Inversion
by milegre
Summary: The familiar story is inverted. Christine is flawed and dangerous, and a mourning yet handsome Erik finds himself comforted by an angel. How will the story end when the roles are reversed?
1. Arrival

**A new brainchild that simply demanded it's birth. This idea has been floating around in my head for weeks and is crowding the creative space! For those that are following Enigmatic Darkness, I do apologize for the delay. It's not exactly writer's block, as the story has already finished entirely in my mind. I just seem to be unable to capture their thoughts and actions appropriately on paper. Please be patient as I work toward that end. In the mean time, I'm not sure how quickly this will develop but I do hope you will enjoy.**

**As a side note, I decided to allow myself one very corny indulgence as an author. I gave my Erik the last name of... gaspshockhorror>... Mauer. Many of you will probably get the corny coincidence there, but since I think Mr. Mauer is the best Phantom ever, I will immortalize him forever in my pitiful story.**

**I've not decided which aspects of the story I will invert, but to state the obvious. Erik is perfectly handsome, and is mourning the loss of someone dear to him. Our dear Christine, who has not appeared in this chapter, is not so fortunate. **

**I welcome constructive criticism and reviews of all sorts!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

With the last of the boxes unpacked, and all of his things put away in a tidy manner, Erik allowed himself to fall at last into the bed that would be his. Quite depressing, really. The springs creaked beneath his weight and the mattress itself sunk in severely in the center. He was, obviously, receiving no special treatment. To imagine that just a year before he had owned his own home, a modest but beautiful estate, would probably seem far fetched to some. Even to Erik it seemed as though that were a dream, so long ago. And then he had lost it all, everything he loved. As a last resort he had come here. The Opera Populaire was always in need of another pair of muscles to heave about, moving the large set pieces or to aide in the construction that seemed never ending on the vast complex. Acquiring the job had been simple, really, but now as Erik reclined in the dusty, cramped quarters that belonged to him he began to doubt whether he could assimilate as easily as he had imagined.

"Oh, Emma.." he sighed heavily, lifting his hands to rub over his face. The hollowness that had threatened to consume him in the past twelve months returned, an aching void that pulled at his mind and heart. As if he could escape the lingering pain, he stood quickly and exited into the busy halls. It was nearly lunch time, and perhaps a meal would quiet his thoughts.

"Monsieur Mauer?"

Erik glanced over his shoulder toward the shorter, scruffy figure calling his name. The boy seemed young, barely eighteen, and had a crooked grin upon his face. Cheerfulness exuded from him, and Erik blanched in the face of it.

"Yes?" he replied in a detached tone, already moving to resume his walk.

"I am Michal, my mother acts as a sort of welcoming committee here within the staff quarters and it's my responsibility to see to it that you find your way about." Even his words were excited, and Erik relented a bit of the tension within his mind - allowing the seemingly abundant joy Michal possessed to wash a bit of his turmoil away. Perhaps he wasn't _so_ bad..

"A pleasure, Michal. Call me Erik."

Together the two navigated the halls quickly. Michal proved to be an efficient tour guide. Within a matter of twenty minutes he had shown Erik the entire floor that housed all of the common workers. He explained that the floors above housed the performers, and soon led the way toward the dining facility. By the time they settled to eat, Erik was famished. It had been days since he had eaten a hot meal, and as much was obvious by the way he went through his food.

"Slow down there," Michal had commented, with mirth in his eyes. "There's more where that came from. Hungry, are we?"

Erik ignored the intrusion into his meal, and finished eating. Just before he could acquire a bit of dessert, the entire room went into an uproar. A little ballerina ran into the room, paused in the very center, and gave the most shrill shriek Erik had ever heard.

"It's **_her!_**"

Immediately the quiet clanking of china and soft hum of conversation died, chaos ensuing. Trying to make sense of it all, Erik could only ascertain that at least half those in attendance seemed annoyed and were calling for the frightened child to be silenced. They rolled their eyes and muttered snide remarks that were lost upon the ears in all of the din. The others, however, responded with an ashen face and wide eyes. The matronly woman who had first spoken with Erik rushed in behind the girl and squatted before her. Erik could only assume she was attempting to calm the little thing.

"It's the ghost! She was here!"

The older woman seemed to have no tolerance for this. She snapped upwards into a rigid posture and leveled her gaze upon all those making such remarks.

"Silence would befit you all," she stated in a tone that had quite the effect. The dark eyes seemed to dare the others to rebel against her word, and when no one did so, the lady glanced his direction. Erik felt uncomfortable beneath the scrutiny. After mere seconds, she glanced beyond him to his companion, Michal.

Michal groaned beneath his breath, careful not to allow his body language to betray his emotion.

"I must go for now, Erik. That, you see, is my mother."

With no further explanation, Michael had disappeared out the door just behind a frightened ballerina and a livid Madame Giry.

* * *

Hours later, Erik had found his way to his new work site. His job was the destruction of old and unneeded set pieces. As simple as it may sound, it proved to be quite a complicated duty. Before he carefully removed each nail or screw, he had to first determine what type of material it was and then compare that with the list the set department had created. Amongst the pages and pages of pieces needed, he must determine first if that particular material was necessary. If it were, then he was responsible for gathering the dimensions, and finally assuring the quality of the piece. More often than not it could simply be recycled into the next production. The few things he had gotten to destroy had been physically exhausting, nothing short of monumental for a single person to do.

With less than an hour until dinner would be served, Erik's muscles ached and he longed for rest. His mind was restless however, and he could not tolerate even the idea of retreating into his own thoughts. He wandered without escort about the opera house, until he stumbled upon the chapel.

The room was tiny and dimly lit, with only a single candle burning. The silence was welcoming, the darkness comforting. Erik had never been overly pious, but he felt drawn to light a candle for his beloved and perhaps allow himself to mourn a bit more.

The flame was easily lit, birthed from the burning of the other beside it. As the candle flickered and gave birth to light, Erik settled upon the cold stone of the floor. He wrapped his arms about his knees and lifted his head toward the dome shaped ceiling. Tiny though the room may be, the architecture was splendid and it was beautiful.

"Emma," he lamented again, the single name producing agony within his chest. "You left me! Why?"

Erik had shed no tears in months, and today would be no different. Though they did not fall against his cheeks, his eyes became glossy with unspent emotion and his features reflected the utter defeat he felt within his chest.

"Alone..." he sighed.

Erik was a young man, scarcely twenty six. The past three years of his life passed through his mind in a blur as he hovered there, in the cold and lonely chapel. The happiest moments in his life resided in those sacred years, and the most tragic. As he considered all that he had been given, and all that had been taken away from him, an anger began to stir within his chest.

"God," he spat derisively. "How could you take her? Why didn't you stop her? What cruel sin have I committed to be punished so unjustly?"

His words boomed off the walls, and the only response he found was the echo of his own voice.

The louder he spoke out, the more fierce the flame that had been fanned within him blazed. Erik felt blinded by his sorrow, his pain, his fury. He felt as though he watched from afar as his own hands topped the stand holding the sacred candles, the flames being snuffed out. Sent into darkness, the surge of emotion within him propelled him against the stone walls where his fists found purchase. Oblivious to his own pain, he pounded relentlessly. Instead of purging the vicious thoughts, it only seemed to add fuel to the fire. In a consecrated portion of his mind, Erik watched himself becoming consumed.

From afar a voice penetrated the fog. Words could not be heard through the chaos in his mind, but the sweet and delicate tone was unmistakable. It echoed peace. Peace that forced its way into the struggle within his mind, quieting the clamoring fibers until he felt only numbness. Erik slumped down against the cold stone wall, and lifted his bleeding hands to his face.

"Oh God," he finally wept. "Please God, I cannot be alone. I cannot endure it. Please help me."

His cry was little more than a choked out sob, completely unheard to the bustling world of the opera house above. The cry did not go unnoticed, however, and it would not go unanswered.


	2. Demon, Indeed

**Thanks for the review, Mouse. This chapter is just for you :)**

* * *

Two days had passed and Erik found that the calm still resonated within his soul. Sleep came easily to him, as it had not in all the months before. Just when the familiar pain threatened to surface and disturb his rest, the melody returned again. So soft and faint were the strains that he could not decide if he heard at all with his ears, or entirely with his heart. Such peace was granted by the soothing tones, however, that just as he surrendered to slumber, Erik wondered whether God had answered his prayers with the presence of an angel.

In the hustle of the daylight hours he had no time to ponder such things. To all of the performers it may have seemed like a quiet time in the opera house. An entire month was left before rehearsals would begin on the new opera, and all of those with the artistic talents were given much leniency in their schedules. The dancers practiced twice a day, and the chorus did the same. The primary singers attended vocal lessons at their own discretion, and all of the other time was filled with revelry and mischief. In the two days since his arrival, Erik had overheard countless tales of the ghost. Though they all disagreed on different aspects of it's personality, they did arrive at a consensus upon most of the important facts. It was a woman, thin as a wraith and as pale as such. She would be beautiful, the gossiping girls whispered, were it not for the deformity that ravaged half of her skull. When all human wisdom was exhausted, they simply decided she was a demon.

Joseph Buquet, a rather ruddy stage-hand, was currently taunting the younger ballerinas with such sordid tales. They clustered together in fear and squealed in terror and delight at his words.

"Within her command she holds all of the legions of hell," he hissed, in a much too dramatic voice. Erik could only roll his eyes, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He tossed his gloves onto the edge of the stage and leaned against it, listening to the rest of Joseph's words.

"Fiercely protective of the opera, she is. You should watch each mis-step you have, for it may be your last!" He made a grotesque face, and lunged toward the children as he spoke. Having tolerated all their morbid curiosity could withstand, the pre-teens stood together and scrambled off of the stage in a squeal of horror. The stage hand simply laughed and rubbed his hands together as though he had accomplished some great feat. He turned, surprised to find Erik staring at him with obvious disdain.

The older man sneered, and walked on. Erik shook his head in disbelief. This place was full of superstition and tales, and he found it all rather silly. Before he could continue his work, he was interrupted by a familiar chipper voice.

"Look busy, you do…"

"Yes," he replied simply, donning his work gloves again.

"He's a regular pain, that Joseph. I'd avoid him if I were you. He causes trouble, carouses with the women.. not the sort a gentleman would associate with."

Erik merely nodded, his attention once more focused upon the job at hand. He was dismantling a rather large elephant from the former production of _Hannibal_.

"At any rate, he shouldn't scare the children so." Michal had found a perch upon the very edge of the stage, his legs dangling over. He allowed his heels to tap at it in an annoying rhythm.

"What is all this foolishness about a ghost?" Erik inquired, continuing his work.

Michal lifted his voice over the noise that Erik was making against the prop.

"It's true, you know.. she's…could you stop for just a moment? It's not something I care to yell about."

Erik shot him a sour face, and then found his way over to his new friend.

"Yes, go on."

In a tone that was comically hushed, Michal continued.

"Mother knows her. The ghost. She will never confess how, but she runs errands for her and keeps her box empty." With a nod of his head, Michal indicated one of the private boxes.

"Why would a ghost need a box?" Erik murmured in obvious disbelief.

"Why does a ghost need twenty thousand francs each month?" Michal stated, laughter in his eyes. "If you were a ghost, you could have anything you wanted. And wouldn't you?"

Erik rubbed at his temples. This entire story was rather ridiculous, and when it was coated with the exhuberance Michal seemed to carry with him at all times, it was even more so.

"Foolish," Erik muttered at last. "Who gives her twenty thousand francs?"

"The managers, of course! Ghost, demon, whatever she is.. she has certain powers that terrify the managers. If they pay her salary, things flow smoothly within these walls. Some say she protects us. A guardian, of sorts. I believe she's a demon, and that if she's placated.. she allows no others to haunt us."

Erik laughed aloud at the absurdity of his friend. The mirth drained from Michal's face.

"Foolish as it may seem, you should be careful. A lot of people have _accidents_, and I would hate for you to befall that fate."

Erik did not have time to question his strange little friend as to his meaning before Michal rushed off, chasing the skirts of some pretty brunette.

* * *

The entire set of Hannibal was nearly dismantled, and soon the lush tropical jungles and scenes from Lakmé would emerge. She was not interested in that, now. Her attention was captured by the man standing merely feet below her. Sweat lined his brow and she could see the strength of his muscles as they flexed beneath his shirt. He was strikingly handsome, but she could see the haunted expression in his gaze.

Separated and rejected from all human interaction, Christine had never longed so much to touch another person. It did not equate to lust, exactly. Only a strange desire to know what the flesh of another person would feel like beneath her cool fingertips. When he wept, in the chapel, and his anguish overcame him – she desired nothing more than to draw his head into her chest and sing his worries away. Betraying an oath she had sworn to herself years prior, she had did the latter.

Allowing her voice to echo off of the tiny chapel walls and seem to surround him, she had offered a soft, soothing melody to tame the beast within. His pain was so fresh, so real – it easily transferred into her own breast. She could feel the aching within his soul, and found that it mirrored her own. Having committed treason against herself, Christine found herself falling down a slippery slope. She vowed in her self-directed fury to speak no more to this man. The darkness that surrounded her would consume him, and she would not subject another person to that horror.

At night, however, as he tossed and turned and struggled again for peace – she found that she could not deny him that. With the use of her voice, she could chase away all of his demons. Christine could not help but smirk at that thought, even as she idly watched this unusual man hard at work. _"Demon indeed…" _she murmured to herself.

The legends about her spread rapidly throughout the walls of the opera house, and she was not surprised that he had already heard these tales. A sense of power coursed through her as she realized that she could control his emotions. She had learned very long ago that she could pitch her voice in different ways to evoke the desired reaction, to accomplish her goals. It worked easily enough even on Madame Giry, who had known her since she was a child. Though the stern expression seemed to express that she understood she was being coerced, Anne obeyed easily enough. It was not simply that, in this case. She could bring pleasure to his haunted mind. Calmness, peace. A creature of darkness and pain could instill a beauty, a peace. It felt powerful, appealing.

Christine turned away from the sight before her and stalked silently toward the secret passageway that would permit her entrance into her own labyrinth.

"_Two hours,"_ she mused. Two hours, and then dinner would begin and he would return to the chapel. This time, perhaps, the angel he had prayed for would meet him there.


	3. Angel of Music

**Thank you so very much for the kind reviews. I must admit that this story is quite a challenge! It is more difficult to make Christine the Phantom and Erik the innocent than you might imagine! At any rate, I'm enjoying this very much and I am glad you are too.**

* * *

When someone is accustomed to controlling every facet of life, it becomes quite unbearable when that control is lost. Such was the case with Christine. Lingering in the wings of the chapel, always shrouded in shadow, she had expected him.

The hour he usually frequented the chapel had passed, and Christine knew that he must be taking dinner. Still she waited, the ghost drawing upon every last vestige of patience she could contrive until the silence was more than maddening. With little more than a growl of complaint, she stalked off into her secret corridors to follow his voice. Even amongst all the din, she would be able to find him. His voice was a rich, delicious tenor that stood out in it's crystalline quality. It would be easy to pick from amongst the rabble. That is, if he were speaking at all.

* * *

The evening found Michal in a rather jovial mood, and Erik had been deterred from his pious visit to the chapel by his energetic companion. Still unsure as to how he had been laden with this bane of friendship, Erik found Michal rather endearing and could not bear the thought of rejecting him. He was, after all, the only one who had made a significant effort to befriend him in the few short days since his arrival.

Thus were the circumstances as the two sat down to dinner together. Michal rather picked at his food, too busy talking to pay it much mind. Still overly thankful that he had a hot meal at all, Erik simply nodded and mumbled agreements with Michal to spur on the conversation while he feasted.

"So, how did you come to be here?" All of the nonsensical talk screeched to a halt when Michal posed the serious question.

Erik's hand paused in mid-air, and his expression fell. He had known his tale would surface eventually, but to have to share it so soon was nothing short of nauseating. Regaining his composure, he finished chewing and calmly took a drink.

"Misfortune," was his simple reply, his appetite suddenly waning.

"Yes, of course. Isn't that the case with all of us? But misfortune of what sort?" Michal, with his unabashed youthfulness and glowing eyes seemed unaware that his persistence could be rather annoying, or that it may be a topic Erik did not want to discuss at all.

Erik cleared his throat, glanced about the room, and finally picked up his fork. He could find no diversion.

"My wife was very ill. We spent two years traveling the world in search of a cure. All of our funds were exhausted, and eventually.. She passed on." The heaviness with which Erik spoke caused all the conversations immediately surrounding them to cease. A silent reverence ensued, and was only broken when Erik once more cleared his throat. On cue, the soft conversations continued and Erik allowed his moist glaze to drop again to his food. Suddenly he was not hungry at all.

"I am sorry," Michal offered, seeming quite sincere.

Erik only nodded and stood from the table.

"I am exhausted. Perhaps we can share breakfast, Michal. If you will forgive me..."

With little more explanation, the widower made a hasty retreat from the dining hall. He considered a visit to the chapel, but felt he lacked the emotion strength to endure it. His knuckles were still cracked and sore from his first visit, and Erik felt as though the fight had left him. He wanted to sleep at last.

When he stepped into his room, the gaslight was turned low. He heightened the illuminance long enough to prepare for bed, and once he was settled beneath the scratchy blankets he extinguished the flame, ensconcing himself in darkness.

Silence followed, but Erik felt as though he were not alone. As he focused on the feeling, it reminded him of how he had felt as a child. His mother would assure him that his heavenly Father was always with him, even if his earthly father could not be. She would read stories from the Bible and just before he would drift off to sleep a feeling of peace would surround him. The current sensation did not directly correlate, but it was the closest comparison he could find within his mind. This prompted his quiet prayer.

"Father," his voice was shaking, even as he began. "I suffer greatly. If you are there.. If you still listen..."

The words trailed off, his conviction lost. After another long moment of silence he spoke again, into a different vein.

"I believe perhaps you have sent an angel, to comfort me. Thank you."

After muttering an awkward 'amen', Erik rolled to his side and allowed his eyes to close. As was always the case, tormenting images flashed before his eyes and he knew that without divine intervention he would not find the peaceful sleep he had tasted in the last few nights.

"Please, God. Send your angel.. The angel of music."

As if in response, the sweet melody that he had felt within his soul filled the room. Only this time, he was certain it was audible.

"Erik..." it sang, drawing out each syllable. Erik sat up quickly in bed.

"Who's there?" he snapped into the darkness. He would not be made a fool of.

"God has sent me to comfort you. I am the angel of music."

The tone of the voice was so magnificent, and it soothed his mind in such a way that Erik put up little resistance to the outlandish thought. No mortal could possess such a voice, and so with all of the blindness that pain and suffering can cause, he accepted such heresy.

"Angel?"

"Yes, Erik."

"The Catholics.. the priests say.. What I mean to say is.."

Erik could not find the words to express his worry.

"Did you come from heaven, Angel?"

"Yes."

Again he struggled to say what he did not wish. If it were spoken aloud it would become too real. The inner struggle was written plainly on his face, and from her vantage point Christine could see him wrestle with his thoughts. She had found him indeed, in the dining hall. She had found the source of her pain, and it did not take a genius to put the pieces together. His wife was a suicide, unable to bear the pain any longer Christine suspected. Erik worried over the state of her soul.

Though her inner voice warned her against such hypocrisy, Christine spoke with authority, using her voice to weave her spell about Erik and grant him peace.

"She is there, Erik. Peacefully, in heaven. Your Emma is safe."

In the after life she may have to pay for such a lie, but the expression of relief that crossed his handsome features made it well worth the blatant untruth.

If any doubt had began to creep into his mind, it was silenced when the angel spoke again. She had seen Emma! The course of her demise had not caused her eternal damnation, and the angel had even known her name.

"Angel?"

No audible response came, but Erik could feel that she was still with him. He settled into his pillow again, and sighed a soft request.

"Will you sing for me, angel?"

And she did. The demon became an angel, and sang with the voice of such.


	4. Cousins

**A little bit long, I do hope you won't mind.**

**Please continue to review, it fuels my creativity. Honest!**

* * *

Seconds into minutes, minutes into hours. Hours into days, days into weeks. Time is a relentless continuum that drones ever onwards. It is the same even in a very busy opera house. The weeks were gone in the blink of an eye, and before long it was only days until opening night. The set pieces were nearly complete, the singers and dancers finely tuned, and all that was left was to wait. 

Not so much had changed in those weeks, yet everything had. The same rhythm which would always be the hallmark of theatre continued each day, and yet within it's walls one soul had changed completely. The sorrow and solitude that had threatened to consume Erik seemed to gradually ebb away. He was more jovial, even beginning to laugh with Michal and talk animatedly about a variety of subjects. His circle expanded to a few more of the young men Michal trusted, and Erik would even have called them friend.

Michal assumed that Erik had simply adjusted to his new life, and that the schedule he kept now aided in keeping his mind off of his troubles. Little did he know that, every evening after dinner, when Erik rushed off to bed, he met with an angel. The savior of his mind and spirit.

She had made him swear an oath, that sweet disembodied voice who held limitless power over the state of his emotion. Never to tell. Because, she cautioned, not everyone would understand that God did indeed intervene into the lives of his children in such a way. He would be scoffed at and mocked. She knew this, of course, because her thinking was high above his own.

As a docile canary will accept seed out of the palm of his master, so Erik accepted her words without question. So long as she did not abandon him, he would heed her every command.

She visited with him every night. They spoke of everything, and nothing. She had revealed, much to his surprise, that angels are very much like humans. Also created in the image of God, they can laugh, and even cry. They reflect every emotion humans feel, only their existence is eternal from the outset. Upon this foundation she had created her web of deceit, until they could banter and carry on much in the way any man and woman would, only without the proprieties and social niceties.

Christine had also discovered, much to her very _human_ delight, that he could sing. His voice was raw and untrained, and one had to strain hard to see beneath the surface of the coal to glimpse the diamond within. She had recognized his talent, however, and with subtle coercion, convinced him to allow her to train him.

* * *

"_You could sing like an angel itself, with proper training!" The feminine melody encompassed him, the tone pulling upon his resistance in a subtle disarming._

"_No, angel" Erik had gently responded, fearing to anger her and cause her departure by his refusal. Still, he pressed on. "I have not sang since... Emma. I have sworn that I would not!"_

_A sigh filled the room, soft and sorrow filled. It pricked Erik's heart to imagine that he had caused the angel disappointment._

"_The old wounds must heal, Erik. You cannot allow them to fester forever. Sing, Emma will hear you. It would please her. She wishes for you to live again, not to waste away!"_

"_You speak with Emma?" Erik asked, for the moment, incredulous. _

_Without hesitation, Christine had replied. "Of course."_

_Her student, her obsession had become very still and seemed to ponder for a very long moment. Christine was patient with him, allowing him the time he needed to submit to her wishes._

"_Of course, angel. Who am I to question a messenger of God? I will sing, I will learn."_

_Christine was too far lost in the deception to feel any regret for manipulating him so. To speak of the dead in such a scandalous light caused no ill-feelings within her, she was beyond such doubt. He needed her, and she would mold him into the man that he could be. His voice, his mind, his spirit. All of it would, some day, belong to her._

"Erik, please! You always rush off. It is only days before the new production and you will be given nearly a week of rest! Come, join us. Only for a drink."

* * *

Michal and his friends were convincing, but Erik cast a nervous glance over his shoulder, in the direction of his meager room. 9:00 p.m., sharp, the angel always said. He was not to be late. He had always obeyed, fearing that the soothing voice would abandon him in his disobedience. The prior night they had laughed, as Erik recounted stories of his childhood. The angel had been in such high spirits, perhaps she would forgive his tardiness. It was, after all, only nearly 8. Surely he could be back on time. Mind made up, Erik allowed his companions to steer him away from the shelter of his angel and into the world of the living for the first time in weeks.

When each man had a drink in hand, and was settled around the table in the small pub, all of the men set in to teasing Jean, newly engaged.

"You simply could not wait to bed the lady," Michal teased with a glint in his eye. "Such an expensive ring when you could simply buy a woman for much less!"

Jean landed a blow to Michal's shoulder, and the younger man winced. Just when Erik thought the duo would seriously have words, both broke into fits of laughter.

"Ah, who would not want to wed such a beauty?" the eldest in their company chimed. "Beautiful," he murmured into his drink.

Erik laughed with them, and then pushed his drink aside. Nearly an hour had been wasted upon such boorish talk, and he would certainly be late as it were.

"Time for me to retire, gentlemen." He stated, as he stood and pushed his chair back. The men yelled and chanted at him, all nearing the point of intoxication, as Erik simply shook his head and laughed, making his way out of the establishment. It was only a few blocks walk to the opera house, and he opted to stroll there. It was a clear, moonlit night and he had not enjoyed the outside in some time.

As he transversed the streets, he paid little mind to the going ons about him. Carriages rolled by, lovers strolled arm in arm down the lane, and children darted about their mothers legs in fits of giggles. Paris was alive, and the people within it were it's hearts blood. Erik enjoyed being surrounded by it, even if he felt he could not assimilate actively into that beat.

In the midst of all the quiet chaos, a familiar voice broke his reverie. Erik looked up from the brim of his hat, which he had been worrying betwixt his fingers. A carriage had, apparently, lost a wheel and a worried voice was pressing the driver.

"How long shall it take to finish, Monsieur?"

"Half an hour, Miss." the burly man had replied. The woman seemed disheveled, and simply nodded in response before pursing her lips and strolling back toward the cabin. She paced aside it, muttering to herself.

"I will be late. Ah, my brilliant luck."

"Annabell?" Erik called out, before he realized it and could not take the spoken word back. For a moment he considered retreating into shadows, but when she cast her gaze toward him his heart leapt within his chest. It _was_ her!

"Yes? Who's there?" A nervous hand lifted to the door of her carriage, as if she would retreat into it for protection. Erik had little choice but to step into the light and assuage her fears.

"Erik," he answered simply, as he moved forward toward her. The wide blue eyes he remembered gazed upon him with guarded expression, and to make his point he dipped into a low bow, flicking the edge of his coat in an extravagant gesture. Just as when they were children. A squeal left the woman before him, and before he knew it she had thrown herself into his arms.

"Cousin!" She cried against his cheek, as she pressed a chaste kiss there. He could do little else except hug her back, and laugh with her.

"Yes, but you know we really are not, Annabell. Only games for children." Erik replied, smiling down into her eyes.

"Yes, of course," she breathed, as she stepped away and cleared her throat. "Perhaps that was an inappropriate greeting. You are, after all, a man now."

Erik laughed, even as her gaze moved over his form. He knew he was not dressed in a splendid manner at all. Rather, he looked very plain in contrast to her fine gown and jewels.

"Yes, a man. What brings you to Paris, Annabell?"

"A job, actually. I am singing at last," she replied, her entire frail form exuding excitement. "I am to perform in the new production of Lakme at the Paris Opera!"

Erik could not stifle his surprise and laughter. It seemed he had not stopped laughing since he had met her once more.

"It is you then, the visiting diva! I should have known, what, with all of the odd requests being made."

Annabell swatted at his arm playfully, their familiar banter returning easily.

"You bafoon, tell me of what you speak. How did you know to expect me?"

"I work there, my dear lady. At the opera."

With a delighted expression of shock, Annabell lifted a dainty hand to her mouth. "Say it is not so! You are singing as well? On stage, no less! How wonderful, Erik!"

Erik lifted a hand to silence her, shaking his head a bit more solemnly.

"No, unfortunately, this is not the case. I am merely a stage-hand, of sorts."

Concern filled the petite ladies gaze, and her brow furrowed in unasked questions. How could he have gone from such an affluent position to this in less than a decade?

Erik could sense all that needed to be said between them, and diverted the conversation.

"We have much to catch up on, little cousin," he teased. "Perhaps you would take dinner with me one evening? If the diva can find time, that is."

Hurt flashed momentarily within her bewitching gaze, and she lowered her eyes. Seeming to mull on his statement for a moment, she stepped forward and raised her gloved hand to his cheek. It rested there lightly, in an attempt to affirm her loyalties to him.

"Mere station cannot take away our memories, Erik, nor can it remain friendship. I am simply Bell, on the inside, even still. And you, my bold knight in shining armor, protecting me from the vicious attack of feral puppies."

Both smiled, and Erik captured her hand, brushing his lips across the knuckles.

"Yes," he smiled.

"The wheel is fixed, my lady. " The gruff voice of the cab driver interrupted their rendezvous, and Erik stepped away as though caught. He cleared his throat, and in a rather formal voice, mouthed.

"Dinner, then. I will call upon you tomorrow as to a time."

With that, he turned and made his way down the street. It took all of his strength not to look over his shoulder. Every part of his life that was pleasant had been lost and buried with Emma. Now, his childhood sweetheart and friend had emerged to carve at the ice that was his heart. So delighted to have seen her again, was he, that Erik entirely forgot that he was nearly an hour late for his lesson with his angel.


	5. Christmas Eve

**Thank you for the reviews. Again, I am glad you are enjoying. I think I'm finally debugging my mind as well, as this is flowing a whole lot easier than the first couple of chapters. The change in each of their demeanors was difficult.**

**Also, I was reading through the first couple chapters and I found several mistakes. I need a beta. Anyone interested?**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

"Anything you can, Julia. You understand."

With that cryptic statement and a palm full of coins, armed only with a name, the woman turned away from the shadowy figure and slipped back into the world of the living.

Christine stifled a sigh, and turned as well. The depths of her catacomb were beckoning. Music danced within her mind, a slow torment if it were not expressed. At times like these her thinking became fuzzy and unclear, and the tension within her thoughts was more of a nuisance than a pleasure. She would have to spend time at the piano, riding herself of the notes that seemed to have a life of their own within her mind. As much as she hated to do so, especially at a time such as this, she knew that she must be up to par to study her opponent, and plan her course of action.

Unknown to Erik, his precious angel had seen every moment spent with the lovely young woman on the street. A vicious jealousy had welled within her. In an attempt to spurn him, to punish him for his actions – she had not visited him when he finally returned to his room. Despite his endearing pleas, she had turned coldly away from him and instead sought out her only trusted confidante. A woman of means, Julia could acquire anything Christine needed and had proven this over the years. Information was no different, and tonight the two women parted on a different mission. Julia, to uncover the past of one Anabell Lafeyer, and Christine to rid her mind of the bitter song embedded within it. In the light of day, everything would be made clear again.

* * *

Erik lay alone in his bed that night, staring at the ceiling. He did not realize how dependant he had become upon the voice of his angel. His own thoughts felt chaotic, even more so perhaps after the reintroduction of Anabell into them. How he needed his angel to calm him, to confide in, to soothe him with her majestic voice!

No matter what his entreaties, she did not answer and now he was left alone with his own confusion and shame.

Once he had settled in his room, the thoughts of Anabell came rushing back. She had appeared so lovely in the lamplight, her features matured from that of a child to a woman. In retrospect, he could recall how enticing her supple curves felt against his body when she had hugged him, and the sweet scent of her hair against his cheek. It had been over a year since he had been with a familiar woman, and longer still since he had held one so close. Against the will of his reasoning, his body responded to thoughts of her now as he lay alone in his bed.

Feeling traitorous towards his wife, he rolled to his side and groaned. Would there never be peace for him?

In the absence of his angel, Erik was left to his own devices in finding sleep. Thoughts of Emma only caused the chasm in his heart to drip with the blood of mourning, and remembering Anabell as he had seen her tonight caused his body to stir in a way that made him feel heavy with guilt. The only respite he could find was in recalling those childish years he and Anabell had spent together.

* * *

"Erik, Erik," a singsong voice called, followed by a high pitched giggle. Darkness surrounded Erik, save for a single line of light peeking in through the crack in the doorway. His forehead was pressed against the cool wood and the smell of the sea instantly engulfed his senses. He was back at home, in the little cottage by the sea.

"Oh cousin!" the pretty little girl child called out, and Erik could see the scrapes on her knees as she bent to peek beneath the bed. She had scabbed them quite well on a dare from him to climb a tree. She had slipped from a high branch and then become terrified to attempt her descent. Erik had stood at the bottom of the tree, looking up at her as she wept with blood running down her little legs and staining her dress. Though he was scarcely eleven that day, he had sworn he would never let anything hurt her like that again. In an attempt to qualm her fears, he had climbed into the tree himself and cradled her within his arms, bringing her back to the safety of the ground. She had smiled at him through teary eyes, and kissed his cheek. Her nurse called upon her then, and seeing the state she was in, Erik overheard the sound tongue lashing she received all the way home. The little girl, holding the hand of her nurse, had looked back over her shoulder and offered Erik again the sweetest smile; as if she knew the promise he had made to himself and was thanking him for it.

Erik did not dwell on those things this day; instead he focused upon keeping his breathing still and even. Once the girl had exhausted herself of looking for him, she sat down upon the edge of the bed and kicked her feet. Her lower lip trembled, and Erik could tell she was about to cry. He shuffled intentionally, giving her a clue to his hiding spot. Her eyes had brightened and she stood again, focused in the general direction of the closet.

"_A-nn-a.." _He called to her, the sound barely audible. With a squeal of triumph the younger child dashed toward the door he knelt behind and jerked it open. Erik had jumped out at her with a growl, and she screamed in delight as she turned to escape him. He chased after her, and their games continued in earnest.

The dream changed shape, and the two children were now huddled beside of one another on the rug in front of the fire. A large and lazy hound rested between them, and they both idly stroked one of his large ears. Their mother's sat in rocking chairs nearby, humming softly and sewing.

The air of anticipation filled the room.

"Papa will be here soon," Annabell boasted, and Erik simply smiled at her. His mother and Anna's mother had been best friends throughout their childhood, as close as sisters. His papa and Anna's papa had also known each other well, and so it was simply perfect when they had each married, respectively. Although Erik was at least three years older than Anna, he looked upon her much like a sister and they even teasingly called one another 'cousins'. Such was their relationship at this age.

As if on cue to his daughter's prompting, Anna's father entered the room. It was Christmas Eve, and as much was evident by the snow he kicked off of his boots. Erik's father had always read the story of the Christ child upon every Christmas Eve, and this would be the first year since his death that they had celebrated. The children eagerly hoped that Anna's father would fulfill the tradition, and so he did.

"In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world. (This was the first census that took place while Quirinius was governor of Syria.) And everyone went to his own town to register."

Erik snuggled against the dog, stroking its fur. He realized that the tresses within his fingertips were much too long to belong to the pooch, and he glanced up to see that Annabell had fallen asleep with her dainty head resting upon its shoulders. He idly stroked the pretty curls, watching her child-like face in her slumber.

"So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child."

His father had died, leaving him and his mother alone and poor. He still felt the betrayal of his absence deeply, and as he watched his precious friend sleep, he again considered her fate. So long as he lived, the pre-teen swore to himself, she would be safe. And happy..

"While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger…. Erik. Erik!"

The words blurred and changed, and Erik realized that they were entirely wrong in the context. His mind reluctantly released the image and returned to consciousness, only to find Michal looming above him. He grinned as Erik squinted up at him.

"Wake up!" He yelled much too loudly, his stale voice causing Erik to make a face and shove at his friend.

"Yes, yes. I'm coming.." he murmured in a voice husky with sleep.

"The diva is asking for you, Erik!" Michal seemed shocked and delighted at the news.

Erik sat up, rubbing at his face. What diva? For a moment, the events of the prior night all seemed a dream as well.

"Mmm?" He murmured, simply.

"The visiting diva! Have you seen her? Of course you have, you dog. You must have rushed off early last night to woo the little songbird. She is calling for you by name!"

Reality finally found its place within his mind and Erik choked out a surprised, "Anna?"

Michal laughed again, nearly bouncing about the room in all of the excitement.

"Yes! Now come, you mustn't keep a lady waiting." With that Michal rushed out the door again, leaving a wake of confusion in his path.

Erik had told Anna he would call upon her, why would she seek him out? Especially when he had already explained their differences in station. It would only tarnish her reputation. Perhaps it was important? Maybe something was wrong!

Erik sprang from the bed quickly and prepared for his day. Whatever it held, he knew Anna would be in it once more. That gave him, for the first time in years, a true rush of excitement and joy.

Completely unaware of the obvious delight upon his features, Erik rushed off, oblivious to the wrath he was calling upon himself from one he once called _angel._


	6. Disruption

**This is a bit longer than is typical for me, but I could not find a good way to divide it into two chapters. If you see any errors, please let me know. As I said before, I still need a beta for this. :)**

**Enjoy, and if you do please continue to review. It's disappointing when reviews dwindle, it makes me think the quality is going down! **

**-M**

* * *

Nothing, absolutely nothing. Piles of papers, all filled with useless information. Nothing within that was at all incriminating or really very interesting. Julia did her best, Christine was sure. Apparently Erik's little visitor from the past was simply a very prim, proper, and _boring_ person.

A sigh preluded the rough shuffling of papers, knocking them from the top of her piano. Christine watched in abstract humor as they all floated through the air, landing in a disheveled mess at her feet.

The bench beneath her creaked as she shifted, sitting up straight again. Long, slender fingers lifted to idly stroke the smooth ivory. A light tune filled the cavernous room, disjointed and simple. The sound of boredom and frustration manifest through the strings.

"Disrupted," Christine murmured aloud, her thoughts birthing that single word. Her carefully laid plans had been disrupted with the arrival of the pretty little soprano.

Erik's mind was in a delicate position, and for weeks Christine had plotted exactly how to soothe him, to hollow out the mourning that still claimed his heart, to manipulate him into the position she wanted him to be before introducing him to her world of darkness and music. Carefully she had considered each attribute of his personality and his life, deciding to maintain her distance and appear only as his angel for some time yet. When his trust was fully vested in her, blindly and unconditionally, she had intended to slowly draw him closer to her in mind. To reveal more of her human thoughts and emotions, and eventually to bring him to her. She could always use some of her herbs and chemicals, well-known amongst her own legends and rumors as her weapon of choice, to induce delirium and simply bring him here. That, however, was not acceptable. She wanted him to think with a clear mind, and to accept all that he would see.

Until her plans were disrupted. Now she felt as though she were teetering on some precipice, watching him being snatched from her palm helplessly. If she did not act, and much sooner than she intended, he would fall into the charms of the naive little chit above and she would lose him, and his song, forever.

Frustrated by the seemingly hopeless situation she found herself forced into, the ghost that haunted the halls of the opera stood quickly and began preparations. He would come to her soon, and things must be perfect for his arrival.

* * *

In the world above, Erik had no clue as to the energy being expended on his part. Stories below his feet, his angel prepared to snatch him away from the waking sun. In the rooms above the new diva and his old friend, ignorant that Emma had ever existed much less that he still mourned for her, considered with girlish delight whether he would ever be attracted to her, considering their past.

Though years had passed since they last met, Annabel often thought of Erik and constantly compared the stream of suitors that passed through her doors to him. None measured up, and so she was still alone at an age where most women were already married and nursing. Seeing him on the street had been quite the shock, but after speaking with him she realized what she had been avoiding throughout her life.

She loved him. Her heart raced, her palms were sweaty, and she felt as though she could scarcely breathe in his presence. His beautiful voice had matured, and now carried a timbre that caused her to tremble beneath it's strength. He had promised to call upon her, but after a fitful nights sleep she could scarcely wait to be in his presence again. Using the power she received as a diva, one she rarely ever mistreated, she ordered that word be sent to him. She wished to see him.

Now, as she sat upon the divan and waited nervously for his arrival, Annabel realized she had not planned at all what she should say.

"_I know it's been years, Erik, and we were really only children when we knew each other before. However, seeing you again on a dark street reminded me that I am actually in love with you. Court me, marry me, stay with me forever!" _Annabel thought, mocking herself in her own thoughts.

"You fool," she muttered, standing to pace instead.

"I've scarcely arrived and already you're insulting me? I will leave, little Bel, if you wish it."

The teasing voice that interrupted her reverie was low and familiar, and Annabel turned in shock at his silent arrival.

"Erik Alexandre Mauer! Do you not know that it is terrible manners to sneak up on a lady, and not to knock as well?" Forcing a look of scolding upon her face, Anna turned to their familiar jesting to hide the nervousness that bubbled beneath the surface. When her gaze fell upon his familiar face, she felt her stomach turn. How could one man do this to her with a simple smile?

And smile he did. Broadly, pushing the door open further to step aside.

"I did knock, Madamoiselle. I dare say you did not hear me because you were at lengthy discourse with yourself."

At last Anna released the tension building within her with a laugh.

"Please, come in Erik."

Erik obliged, averting his gaze from the lovely woman before him. She had been a little girl the last time he had seen her, and it had not been so difficult then to keep from staring. Now she was a woman, beautiful and curvaceous in the gown she had chosen to wear. It seemed a bit much for simple daytime attire, but Erik would not complain. With a graceful hand she gestured toward a chair, and settled in the one opposite him.

"Would you care for tea? I could have some sent up.." Anna fidgeted as they sat, clearly uncomfortable.

"No, thank you, Anna. "Erik replied smoothly, and at the sound of her name upon his lips Anna jumped. Erik reached out to capture her hand within his. It was warm, and soft. He smiled in an attempt to reassure her.

"Please, is something wrong? You are as skittish as a kitten. Am I putting you at unease?" Erik's brow furrowed as he spoke, and he seemed deeply concerned for her comfort.

"No, I.. . yes.. we... it's just. Oh, Erik. It has been so long I do not even know how to act. The child in me wishes we could chase the dog and wrestle upon the floor as we used to, but I cannot deny now that you are grown.." Anna rambled nervously.

"As are you," Erik interrupted with an appreciative smile and a pointed gaze downwards at her more mature body. She blushed, and Erik warmed to the sight. She was quite pretty.

"Yes," she said, seemingly quieted by his comment.

"Perhaps, then, we should act as adults but with the familiarity our childhood would lend us. We have ten years to cover. Let us talk. Tell me what you have been doing, and how it is that your path led you back here?" Erik spoke calmly, hoping to soothe her spirit with his words in the same way his benevolent angel did for him.

Annabel melted beneath his charms, and the idle way he stroked his thumb across the top of her hand. Canting her head aside, and with a sweet smile, she consented to his request and began to recount their time apart.

"After you...left, we moved from the countryside into Paris. I've lived here for the rest of that time, mostly. Papa passed away, and Mama wanted to return to Italy. You remember that her mother was Italian? Yes, and so for the past two years we have lived there. I have been in several productions there, but they were all quite minor until the last. Then I received the leading soprano role and the rest, as they say, is history. I was offered a visiting position here, and it was a great chance to get away. A vacation, of sorts. Mother is..."

Here her voice softened, and saddened. Her gaze, which had been fastened upon Erik the entire time of her story, finally diverted.

"She is losing her memory. Of most things, she cannot recall if she has eaten or what day it is. Sometimes she cannot remember who I am at all. I hope I do not seem the negligent child, running off to chase dreams while she's shut away in that lonely house."

Tears formed in her blue eyes, and Erik found himself longing to wipe them away. To keep all hurt from this spark of sunshine in his life, to make her laugh.

"Of course you do not, Anna. Everyone needs a break sometimes. It is difficult to watch someone you love so dearly fade before your very eyes."

Erik's voice was heavy with sadness and understanding, and he released her hand to reach up and brush a tear from her cheek with his thumb. She smiled at the gesture, and nodded. Clearing her voice, she continued.

"But enough about me! Where have you been? I am certain a lot must have happened.. considering.."

Her gaze dropped to his apparel, and he realized himself and sat back in his chair. Her cheek felt cool and barren without his touch, but Annabel did not remark on it. Instead she perched upon the edge of her chair and leaned closer, the same way she would when they were children and someone was about to tell her a story. Erik could not help but chuckle.

"Yes, a lot has. To make a very long story short, I left with my uncles, received a thorough education and proceeded to involve myself in their business. Things were fine for a while. And then I met..."

Suddenly Erik felt awkward. It seemed out of turn to tell a woman from his past, _this_ woman from his past about Emma. The attraction he had felt toward Anna felt like betrayal and he found he could not meet her gaze directly as he spoke.

"I met a young woman. My uncles did not approve, however, because she was below our station. We had words, and I took my portion of the inheritance and left. I married her, a charwoman, and things were splendid. Then she became pregnant. We were so excited.."

Erik realized his hands were trembling as he spoke, and so he folded them atop his lap. Annabel's countenance was one of confusion and rapt attention, her brow furrowed in thought. He continued.

"Something went wrong, and just as her belly started to round she became very ill. The child died, and it took weeks for the bleeding to end. She never recovered. For years we sought out the best doctors we could find, as she slowly faded each day. I spent every penny I had trying to save her, and still she ... passed."

Erik cleared his throat, unwilling to admit that his wife had taken her own life even to his closest childhood friend.

Annabel had gasped when he finished his tale, and was soon on her knees beside his feet. She leaned up to hug him, murmuring feeble apologies into his hair.

The grief that would have typically swallowed Erik at recounting the tale did not come. Instead, he could only focus on how sweet Annabel smelled as she pressed her supple, warm body into his. He released a haggard sigh, though not for the reason she suspected, and wound his arms about her waist. For a moment, he allowed himself this indulgence. He canted his head aside to bury his face in the loose ringlets that fell freely over her shoulders. Like silk the tendrils danced along his cheeks, granting him an affection he had not felt since Emma died.

A voice was heard from the doorway, a man clearing his throat. Annabel jerked away quickly, gaze darting to the door. Lips pursed in a disapproving expression, she reluctantly disengaged from the hug and settled within her chair again.

"Yes?" She asked the maid at the door, all composure.

"Your tea, Mademeoiselle?" The elderly lady queried, politely averting her gaze.

"No, thank you." Anna replied in a dismissive tone. The lady disappeared, and Annabel cast an apologetic gaze towards Erik.

"Please forgive me, Erik. As I've stated, I forget sometimes that we are grown now and that it is entirely improper for me to embrace you as I just did. It's just that.. I am terribly sorry about your loss. A wife and a child, I cannot imagine! Please, if there is anything I can do..."

Erik shook his head, less embarrassed about the scene than she. "No need to apologize, and yes, I am sorry as well. It has been over a year now, though, and whether we will it or not - life goes on."

Erik managed a sad smile, and a silence fell over the duo for several moments. A comfortable silence. Finally Erik stood.

"As much as it pains me to constantly be saying goodbye to you, I must go. Today is the last day I will have work for nearly a week, and I would not wish to be late." Erik bowed to grasp her hand, and brush his fingers across the knuckles. He lingered there, his gaze lifted to her face as he did so. As his warm breath was expelled against her skin, a shiver coursed through her and she blushed again. Erik could not help but smile at that, and he turned to leave without another word.

At least he seemed to have the same effect on her.

* * *

Monsieur Lemour was not the most gracious man to work for. Short-tempered and easily flustered, Erik had found out quickly that the best way to deal with his immediate superior was avoidance. He finished the work assigned to him, left each day on a little piece of paper, and disappeared before the man made his rounds to assess the work. Any comments or complaints were lodged upon said piece of paper for the next day, and Erik scarcely had to speak to the man.

Therefore, it was horrifying when the pudgy, short man came barreling toward him, waving a piece of paper above his head as though it were a flag.

"Mauer! Stop that this instance!" His shrill, terrible voice sounded over the banging noise Erik was causing. Erik stood tall, allowing his work to cease for the moment. With a level gaze he watched the older man approach, his curiosity piqued.

"Yes, Monsieur?" Erik returned lazily as he finally reached him.

"You are to take the day off. Consider this an extra bonus to your holiday."

Erik simply furrowed his brow and stared at the man, still waving the piece of paper threateningly.

"Holiday begins tomorrow, Monsieur. It will only take me one more day to finish this piece and then the set desig-.."

Erik was cut off by a rather loud snort from the man.

"Monsieur, I do not know what you have done to capture .." at this he glanced around suspisciously, and leaned forward to whisper to Erik. ".. _Her_ attention, but when the ghost leaves letters they are not to be disobeyed. It clearly states that you are to have the day off. Now off with you, I will not face her wrath for disobeying! Heaven knows I already face the danger of poison from my wife, I do not need a would be assassin on my heels over a lowly set boy. Heavens no.."

In a huff, and still rambling, the man waddled off before Erik could ask to see the letter. He found the idea of the lady who haunted the theater ridiculous, but who would pose as such to earn him a days rest?

Shrugging such a thought off, he stowed his work and retreated toward his room. Perhaps, if he hurried, he could make it to rehearsals and catch sight of Annabel on stage. It was difficult to imagine the shy little girl he had protected from bugs the center of all attention, but as he thought about the woman who continued to place herself in his arms - he reconsidered. She was beautiful, and if her speaking voice was to give any clue, she probably sang just as well.

Whistling a light-hearted tune, Erik weaved his way through the halls, unaware of what awaited him at his destination.


	7. Living Angel

The entire aura of his room seemed out of place to Erik as he stepped within. Nothing at all seemed disturbed, and yet everything did. It was similar to that eerie feeling one gets when they know they are being watched. Erik surveyed his surroundings quickly, searching for any intruders. All he found, however, was a beautiful silver tray with a single chalice and a bottle atop it. A note rested to the side, and upon further examination Erik found that the letters were penned in red and were feminine.

"_A gift from the lady. Please enjoy."_

Even Erik would admit that such a gift was peculiar, but as he lifted the bottle to inspect the label it seemed to be a very high quality wine, of excellent vintage. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"To you then, Anna.." he murmured, as he filled his glass and began to drink without a second thought. It was exquisite, flowing across his tongue in sweet delight. Quickly the first glass had been finished, and he filled it again. He began rummaging about in his things, gathering a change of clothes. He still had every intention of making it to rehearsals, if only to thank Annabel for the gift.

Before he could continue in this quest, however, he found it necessary to take a seat. As he stared into the nearly emptied glass, he noticed that everything left a trail behind it in his vision. As if it were moving in slow motion. Erik groaned, moving his hand in horror and fascination to watch the effect again.

"Potent wine," he spoke into the air, addressing no one but himself. "Damn," he continued, realizing he would not be able to go anywhere in this state. The effects of the drug were swift, however, and soon a feeling of euphoria washed over him that left him speechless. His mind tried to piece together who it was he had wanted to see, and he could almost form her face in his mind - but could not even grasp her name.

He was not at all sleepy, but suddenly even the wooden chair he rested in seemed so comfortable that he wanted to curl into it and sleep like a child. A delighted sigh escaped him.

"Mmmm..."

And then, piercing through the sweet euphoria in it's own heavenly sound, came her voice. _Hers._ His angel had returned. Erik could not, in his present state, recall his transgressions toward her. He did not remember missing their lesson, or any of the guilt he had felt because of it. All he knew at the moment was delight at hearing her again.

"Angel," he muttered pleasantly, lifting his gaze toward the ceiling as if he would see her.

"_I am your angel of music.."_

Oh, the bliss! Her voice stroked his mind with sensual affection, weaving its way into his soul until he felt as if he soared on eagles' wings.

"Yes," he offered in weak response, too lost in the effect of her drug and voice to even manage a counterpoint to the beautiful song, as they often conversed.

"_Come to me angel of music,"_

The most bizarre thing followed. The entire wall seemed to move, a portion of it displacing itself atop its neighbor until a large opening presented itself. Erik's mind refused to feel alarm, however, unwilling to relinquish the pleasure it was encased in. The light of candles pierced the din of his room, making it seem more dank and musty than usual. The candles lined a hall, for as far as Erik could see. They seemed to sway, and Erik nearly found himself amused at the sight. That is, until his gaze fell upon the figure standing in the center of the doorway.

A celestial being, no doubt. She seemed taller than most women, and as frail and delicate as a flower. She was tall, deathly pale, and a bounty of raven locks fell in disarray about her shoulders. A dark, perhaps black, gown wound about her curves possessively, making her seem even thinner if that were possible. What was most startling about the figure, however, was the face. One side was simply astonishing. Delicate features, enchanting eyes, flawless. On the other, however, was a mask. It looked to be made out of leather, as it molded to the shape of the wearers face. It was white, and covered her from the top of her brow to her chin. While to many it may seem rather comical to wear a half mask, Erik could only find intrigue and curiosity in response to it's presence. Without realizing it, he stood to the beckon of her extended hand.

"_I am your angel of music, come to me angel of music."_

His angel! Her voice was found within this body, this physical apparition. Oh, what a tempting dream this was turning out to be! He could scarcely wait to touch her, to prove that it was real to his mind - only beginning to rebel against the haze cast over it. With heavy steps he approached, his hand extending to take hers.

Before their fingers could touch, the sound of knuckles rapping against wood resounded.

"Erik, are you in there?" came a female voice. In a state of higher clarity, Erik would have recognized it as belonging to Annabel. Now, however, he could scarcely hear it.

"_I am your angel of music, come to me angel of music..."_

The tone had changed. Still glorious in it's quality, it held an edge of danger and command. This vision before him was no longer asking. Another step closer he moved.

"Who is that in there with you? Erik? Erik!" The knocking was more insistent now.

In a simple grasp Erik's fingers slid into those presented to him. She was cool to touch, but ever so real, and he found that her hand felt small within his own. Despite the size, there was strength in it and he found he could not tear his gaze away from her mysterious face even as she led him into the tunnel and the wall moved on it's own accord, closing behind him.

The journey downwards seemed to take forever, and no time at all. She sang to him the entire way, cajoling his mind with the power she already held over him. The entire night seemed awake with magic, and it all seemed to hover about this figure gliding effortlessly before him through the confusing maze of tunnels.

Soon they were on the edge of a lake, and the woman encouraged him inside a small gondola resting there. He settled languidly in it's bottom, too inebriated to be of any real assistance in the rowing efforts. She did not seem to struggle, however, and poled the craft easily through the dark and murky waters. Before his swimming vision candelabras began to appear, illuminating what seemed to be a vast cavern. In a more alert state he would have noticed the fine furnishings, the impeccable taste, and the rich fabrics. Now, however, he could only see his host and as she was bathed in the welcoming light of the candles, he felt awestruck.

She was beautiful. Not at all sunshine and flowers like Annabel, but something dark and appealing. He suddenly longed to touch her again, to confirm once more that she was in fact real. His wish was granted as they stopped with a jolt at the far shore, and she extended her hand toward him again.

As eagerly as a child would snatch at candy, he reached for her. He thought he noticed a smirk playing upon her crimson lips, but did not have time to dwell upon it as she tugged him upwards and out of the gondola.

The splendor of the room was hardly enough to distract him from her, and his gaze did not stray even as she released him and moved about her lair. In song, she welcomed him. The melody was seductive and resonated through his entire being. He felt his eyes lower in the sheer pleasure of her voice washing over him.

"_I have brought you to the seat of sweet music's throne.."_

The song continued, weaving a hypnotic tale of the beauties of the night, tempting him to abandon the baleful sunlight and submit himself to life in her keeping. Erik could only watch as his angel moved, until she beckoned him to come. He followed, reaching for those cool fingertips with zeal. They just evaded his touch, and she smiled at him. The pounding of his heart was deafening, and somewhere in the back of his mind alarm began to cry. This was not right. Something was not right!

The drug was too powerful, however, and the affect of her presence upon him was irrevocable. The cries were stifled, and Erik found himself in a different room, facing a unique bed. It was perfectly round and rather baroque. It was raised on a pedestal in the center that made the entire creation seem to float. Around it's circumference were carefully carved angels, beautiful visages with tempting smiles or sultry stares. None of this mattered to Erik, however, as his living angel beckoned him in. With a curve of her wrist she instructed him into the bed, and he obeyed.

"Angel.." he managed to speak, longing to ask a million questions. Before he could hear her reply, however, consciousness faded and he succumbed to the drug-induced sleep that was inevitable.

Christine stood and watched him in his slumber. The rugged strength faded a bit and he seemed so soft, so relaxed in his dreams. She smiled, and pulled the curtain down to shield him from the candlelight. Before he had fallen asleep he had called for her, and when he awoke she would be there to answer that call.


	8. Music Together

Before his eyes even opened Erik could _feel_ that something was amiss. The scent that filled his nostrils was not that of his dusty, tight quarters. Instead he smelled the wax of burning candles, ink, paper, _earth_, and finally food. The final component caused a rumble to resound within his stomach, and he stirred. As he did so, a throbbing in his skull greeted him. Also out of place was the chill that permeated the air. Many floors above, his tiny room always seemed so stuffy. Now, however, the air tasted crisp and cool. The hollow, piercing kind of cold that one could only find beneath the earth in caves or mines.

The events that led him to this place were difficult to grasp, and Erik finally managed to lift his heavy lids. The bed he instantly remembered, and the angelic faces that had seemed to lure him in - seducing him with only their stares. The drapery he did not recall, and through its semi-translucent shell he could barely make out what seemed to be an elaborate dwelling place.

"I remember there was mist, swirling mist upon a vast glassy lake..."

Finally finding his legs, Erik slipped from the bed. His shoes were gone, though that much didn't surprise him. As the pieces of the puzzle began to fit together a sense of dread filled him.

"There were candles all around and on that lake there was a boat. And in that boat..."

His breath nearly caught in realization, even as his hand brushed aside the dark drape that shielded his view. Immediately _she_ came into view. Sitting at the piano bench, obviously quite taken with her work. From his vantage point Erik could only see the whole side of her face, and allowed himself a moment to stare openly. Without the affect of drugs he could see more clearly that she was not an angel at all, but simply a woman. A beautiful one, yes, but flesh and blood just as much as he.

"There was a woman..."

He stepped forward aggressively, a frown upon his features. Christine heard his shuffling and finally glanced up at him. She smiled, a disarming smile that caused Erik to pause in his pursuit. It was then that he remembered her mask. Now as she faced him he could see that it traced nearly directly down the center of her face and covered her from brow to chin. This one seemed different than the one before, as it was simple and appeared to be less rigid. After having acknowledged him, Christine turned her attention back to the music before her.

Erik continued forward until he stood aside her by the piano bench. She was wearing a simple gown, a softer grey, that made her flesh seem a bit less pale. It had an open neck and Erik could see the rise and fall of her breasts with every breath.

_A real woman_, he mused, chiding himself for having believed anything else before. But how had she stolen the voice of his angel? How had she made herself sound so similar? It was only then that Erik realized who this creature before him must be. The demon, the ghost that haunts the theatre.

His fingers twitched with anticipation. There, inches before him, hovered her mask. In one easy motion he could pull it away and know the truth. The truth of the rumors, and sate his own curiosity. Before he could make such a brazen move, however, she moved away from him.

Standing at the opposite end of the piano bench, his captor lifted her chin regally and regarded him. Erik met her gaze, and found himself chilled by what he found within. Strength emnated from this creature, and detachment. Erik would never marvel at her ability to live alone for so long. It was easy to see within her gaze that this woman had separated herself from humanity, and therefore from its conscience. For a moment he felt fearful. He had little doubt that if her intentions were to kill, nothing would stopher.

Seeming satisfied with his reaction to her, the masked woman pursed her lips and turned away in a swoosh of skits.

"Come, Erik." She spoke over her shoulder.

Erik felt as though a dagger had been plunged into his heart. He was awake, and the effect of the wine had long since passed. In all clarity he had just heard the voice of his angel again, coming from this woman. He followed along after her, his concerns only heightening the ache within his skull.

She led him throughout the opulent lair and into a small kitchen area. Already waiting for him on the table was a hearty breakfast. All sorts of fruits were sliced and presented, as well as several kinds of toast, jams, and even cheese to accompany it. Erik nearly betrayed himself by swooping in to eat the vast meal. Instead, however, he paused behind the chair she had indicated he sit in. Knuckles white in his grip upon the back, he demanded of her.

"How can this be?"

Again Christine would only smile at him, as she moved about in the cupboards. Before long, however, she came to him and offered him a cup in her outstretched hand. Erik stared at it wearily.

"Oh come, Erik. Are we really reduced to this? It is for your head, that is all. I know it troubles you." The voice that spoke was as sweet and convincing as he had remembered, causing his body and spirit to bristle with pleasure at simply hearing it.

"Who _are_ you?" He spoke, barely more than a whisper. Confusion and horror was etched into his handsome features, and Christine sighed at his resistance. She had expected as much, but did not enjoy it nonetheless.

"Sit, Erik." She muttered, pitching her voice to carry a tone of command. She delighted when he obeyed, realizing her hold on him was still that strong at least. She placed the glass before him, and then chose the seat directly opposite him. Her plate was, of course, empty.

"You sound just like..._her.." _Erik managed feebly.

"Yes, Erik, I do." Christine replied simply, weighing her options. She had not expected his state of confusion to prevent him from making the obvious connection. She had impersonated an angel all along. He still seemed willing to accept that his angel was a separate being entirely, and she could take advantage of that. She could tell him that she was his angel made flesh, and easily explain her mask away as having been required by their God to prevent any mortal from seeing the full of an angels face. She could tell him that his angel had graced her with an angels voice, and bid her to teach Erik, to care for him.

A million ideas played through her head in the silence, but in a rare moment of compassion, Christine chose the truth.

"I am your angel, Erik."

Disbelief settled across his features, and he looked away. Christine watched him intently, her heavy gaze never seeming to leave him. Erik found it stifling, as though she were peering directly into his thoughts. For her part, however, Christine was struggling to contain herself. Since the moment she had first heard him sing she had longed to have him with her, to touch him, to feel him made real.

Though she was loathe to admit it, the part of herself that was distinctly feminine (the part she had tried to rid herself of for most of her life) longed to feel his lips against her own, his hands upon her flesh. As any other woman, she desired to have a lover. This man, as her lover.To feel his hands, his lips. Most of all, however, to feel his love. To know the joy of a companion, a mate and friend to look upon her with more than pity or hatred. To finally, after so many years, be loved.

The ghost flushed, but Erik was too distracted with his own thoughts to notice it. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, and then opened her mouth to sing. She knew that he would recognize her singing voice even more so than her spoken, and his mind needed to find peace.

"_I am your angel of music.."_

Eriks' head snapped up quickly, eyes glossy as he stared at her. She repeated the simple mantra several times for his benefit, and Erik felt horror and betrayal twist within him. Anger finally brimmed to the surface.

"You lied to me!" he spat, standing from his seat. Christine remained impassive, seeming unimpressed with his outburst.

"Yes, Erik. Only because it was necessary." Christine replied calmly, folding her hands atop the table. She lowered her voice to a soothing whisper, hoping to ease a bit of the anguish he felt. To calm him.

Erik trembled with humiliation and rage. Oh, what a fool he had been! To believe an angel would come to him personally, to sing to him. He rolled his eyes at his own naivety and turned away from her. He could not look at her just now.

"How did you know those things?" He demanded. "About Emma."

"I listened to your prayers, in the chapel." By now Christine had stood and moved to his position, bringing the drink she had made for him as well.

"Drink, Erik. It will ease your pain. All I have ever intended is to ease your pain,"Christine murmured soothingly, in a voice that was not to be denied. Against his better judgement Erik accepted the cup and drained it of it's bitter brew quickly. He could not resist the sweet poison of her voice.

"You eavesdropped on someones prayers? Have you no fear of God?"

Christine scoffed and turned away again, putting his emptied glass back in it's place upon the table.

"I have little fear of anything, Erik." she replied naturally.

Erik bristled at her reply, the cryptic words reminding him of the danger she presented.

"I would like to go back." He stated quietly, staring out at the lake before him. He felt like a trapped animal. He knew it would be impossible to find his own way to the surface, and therefore he was dependant upon the very person who held the keys to his prison cell.

"No," Christine replied quietly, reaching for his hand as she walked past.

"First, we shall make music together."


	9. A Similar Intrusion

**I am so glad that you all are enjoying this story as much as I am! I appreciate each and every review, even if I do not find time to reply to them all. As far as Music of the Night, Christine will not be singing it verbatim. I put the implication of it's presence in the last chapter, and that is all we will see of it. I, for some reason, _hate_ putting songs into my work. I will use a line or two here and there, but I get bored with other stories when I have to read the whole lyrics to any song. Even Phantom songs. Because I know the song! Therefore, my characters will never do a whole song. I'll just imply that they do. Like here, with Lakme.**

**I considered putting a lot of the lyrics for this duet in because it's so sad and all of that sappy stuff, but the best I could find was a french manuscript and even babelfish butchered it as they translated. **

**This is my first attempt at anything first person, toward the end of this chapter. Let me know what you think.**

**Also! I have a beta! Yea! She's awesome, too. **

* * *

For hours Christine sat atop her piano bench, fingers caressing the ivories and creating a melody Erik would have never imagined possible. The music seemed to take life and inundate body and mind, until it wrapped around each emotion and brought it simmering to the surface. In the heavy, melancholy pieces Erik felt as though he could weep for hours at the pain and sorrow reflected. As if sensing his burden, Christine would then change the melody again. To something soothing and calm, until he felt at peace once more.

The most powerful, however, were the pieces that Christine played that were laced with eroticism. The music pulsed and writhed, a sensual play of notes that were tempting, provocative. Erik could only stare slack-jawed at her as she produced such glorious sounds, as though she were the goddess of love herself. Never had she appeared so beautiful, or desirable. Not even when, in his stupor, he had thought she was an angel.

Erik would have reached for her, touched her. Perhaps even kissed her, but the moment ended much too quickly and as she faced him again - the cold resign had returned to her features. His reverie was shattered, and inwardly he retreated again. This was the same woman who had captured him, somehow, from his room and now held him prisoner.

"Sing for me," she demanded in the same tone she had used so many times before, during their practices while she was still posing as an angel.

The command seemed innocent enough, and so Erik stepped up to her side.

"Lakmé and Gerald, their duet. From the beginning." Christine spoke simply, and then began to play without a word of affirmation. Lakmé began the song and on cue Christine began to sing the tale of the young Hindu girl who, considered a goddess, finds a young man from the British military in her fathers' gardens. Her first instinct is, of course, to send him away. She urges him to forget that he ever saw her.

In perfect timing Erik merged his voice with her own, so that Gerald cried out in complaint, expressing how impossible it would be to forget her. The song carried on until they both confessed a burning love in their hearts and at last, and the approach of her father, Lakmé sends Gerald away on his oath not to forget her.

Silence filled the cavern as the last few notes of the song resonated and then stilled. Christine did not move, her eyes closed. Erik stared openly at her, seeing only Lakmé through Geralds eyes.

"Angel," he finally murmured, his voice husky and deep. Christine lifted her gaze to him, and his breath was caught at the emotion reflected within her eyes. A lifetime of emotion seemed to churn within her, unrequited passion and love. Erik found himself wondering if anyone had ever bothered to love this brilliant woman, if she had never had the opportunity to share her genius.

"Christine," she stated sharply. The song had left her feeling vulnerable, as he stared into her eyes. She felt as though he easily picked through her mind and discovered every thought and desire she held. Always accustomed to control, she could not bear the sensation long and so she stood, brushing past him.

"Sleep," she instructed simply, her own voice thick with emotion. Erik was left staring after her as she disappeared through a door that had appeared within the wall itself. What a strange, strange woman.

* * *

There is remarkably little to entertain oneself with alone in a cavern. Erik felt as though he should not touch anything surrounding him, and so he did little more than she had commanded. He retreated to the odd bed, and after inspecting it for several moments he simply crawled into it's welcoming folds and found rest.

It felt like hours later that he awoke, but the candles seemed to be the same exact height as when he had closed his eyes. Either way, the woman was not present and he was again left to the uncomfortable loneliness this place offered.

"Christine," he mused aloud. It was so strange to have a label for his angel. It made her seem all the more human, and real. For a moment he wondered why he had never bothered to ask her name when she was masquerading as a heavenly being. Biblical angels all had names. Michael, Gabriel, even Lucifer. Such a thought could not entertain him long, however, and he arose from the bed to wander about her lair rather pointlessly.

He was bored. The eerie feeling that had kept him away from any of her belongings before his sleep had dissipated somewhat, and the lack of focus for his mind proved to be a greater force. He found a rather large bookshelf flanking one wall and began to sift through it's contents. Reading had always been a great passion of his, before Emma anyway.

Volumes of any kind of book he could have imagined were shelved here. Books on music, medicine, science, art, philosophy.. any subject Erik could imagine. What finally caught his interest, however, were the untitled books on the highest shelf. It took several minutes before he could procure one, and as several fell into his waiting hands dust filled the air. He could not help but cough at the sudden onslaught, and turned away with his treasure.

There was a chair placed conveniently before the dying fire, and after adding fuel to the flames, he settled there. The dust was so thick upon the covers of the books that he had to brush it off to see the intricate design pressed into the hard surface. Erik could not decipher it, the cryptic symbol holding no meaning to him. Instead, he opened the cover to find that the words inside were not printed at all. Instead, they were written in a very elegant penmanship. It was the same exact handwriting as he had found on that note beside the magnificent wine.

With a groan realization settled upon Erik. It had not been Annabel that had sent him the drink at all, but Christine. He had played easily into her hands, and she must have laced it with her poison. That is why he felt as though he were in another world last night, the reason he could not resist her.

But would he have at all? Though he would hate to admit it in the light of day, there was something dark and mysterious about Christine that compelled Erik. He felt drawn toward her, intrigued. As though she were a box and he could unlock every secret that lay within.

The top of the page was dated, and judging by the first few sentences Erik surmised that this was a journal. Initially he closed it, staring hard at the cover in silent contemplation. Never before had he considered invading a persons' private thoughts in such a perverse way. In any other situation he would not even entertain the notion, but now he found he could not resist. This woman _had_, after all, held him prisoner. He deserved to know if she was as dangerous as the ridiculous rumors circulating overhead claimed.

Again the book was opened and this time it would be hours before Erik would tear his gaze away.

* * *

_The dreams come without end. Relentless, ruthless. As though living through my perilous life once was not enough punishment for the visage I was born with. I have to be reminded of the hate, the rejection, the pain, the sorrow. Again, and again until I feel as though my very mind will shatter from the sheer weight of it all._

_Perhaps if I had someone to talk to. Freud, the ridiculous man, argues that dreams are significant and need to be interpreted. That they will shed light on our inner conflicts and problems. How laughable that concept is, when applied to my twisted thoughts. My problems are plainly written across my face, and it would not take a psychologist to tell me that being abandoned by my mother and beaten by my father have caused emotional scars._

_I digress. I do not have a living soul I can trust. Julia is useful in the tasks I give her, but I can see the fear in her gaze even as she refuses to look at me. I can see how her hands tremble as she reaches for the coins with which I buy her services. No, I cannot trust Julia. I am alone on this god-forsaken earth and so I will simply have to express my dreams elsewhere. Perhaps here, in this empty book. I will fill the pages with sordid tales of a life that never should have been. Perhaps this will purge them from my thoughts and I will, at last, be free._

Erik found his heart constricting in pity before he could even begin the stories themselves. The heartache and aching resentment was tangible within her written words. He could feel the sorrow radiating from the pages and hesitated before going onward.

_Tonight I dreamed the same as the last. I could see mother running. As fast as she could run, she did. Her feet were bare in my dream, though in reality I cannot recall those details as clearly. I was only five. She ran away and I was able to see her much further away than I ever could in my waking hours. It was almost as if I seen her stop and rebuild her life. Marry again, and give birth to new and perfect children. I stood for what seemed a lifetime in that doorway, watching her leave me. _

"_Mama!" I cried. "Please do not go! I will wear the mask, I will be good. I promise!"_

_The only thing that could tear me away was the rough clutches of my father. He grasped me by the hair and I could tell by the pungent smell upon his breath that he had been drinking. Even so young I knew that smell, and it never equated to good for me._

"_Stupid child!" He hissed, panic lacing his own voice. If mother had left, then that meant I was alone with him. Or him with me? I am not sure which frightened him more. All I know that is in my dream I felt such fear. Now I feel disgusted to think I ever let a wretched man hold such power over me, but I was so small then. I could not control myself._

"_Please, father!" I had cried, begging for the mercy he had never shown me. He released my hair as though burned, recoiling away from me. I lifted my tiny hand to cover my face. I had removed my mask, and I knew that my face frightened him. Perhaps if I were not so ugly he would not strike me._

"_Get away!" He howled. "Can't you see? I am not your father! The devil himself spawned you, you little witch. And now you've caused her to leave me!" My father did not even seem to consider what implications he would send upon the very woman he mourned through his words._

_A lamenting cry left his lips and he glanced upwards at the doorway. My mother had been the crutch to his weakness. Always an alcoholic, he was rarely coherent enough to care for himself, much less my mother or myself. My mother had told me repeatedly in my short life that he was not so before I was born. Before I came, they were happy. Father would bring her daisies and sing to her in the moonlight. They were in love, and wanted a perfect child to reflect that._

_I must have made quite a debut, I imagine. After hours of painful labor they were met with the cry of death instead of the rosy flesh of a perfect child. I ruined their lives, and so they made it a point to ruin mine._

_That night was the last night I would ever see my father. He collapsed not long after, and I ran. I was too small to be alone in the world. Too small to try to care for myself. I suppose I expected that the entire world could not be like them. Someone had to find compassion and pity for the wretched little girl with half a face._

_How wrong could I be? I was completely ill-prepared to protect myself from the horrors to come._


	10. The Fine Line

**A/N - A very long chapter. I hope you do not mind. There are a few questions in this chapter, but it's rather intentional. If something doesn't make sense, it will in the next chapter or two.**

**Also, PLEASE read "The Destiny of Souls Entwined". It's a marvelous story and I cannot recommend it highly enough.**

**Three cheers for LoveMe1010, too. My beta rocks!**

* * *

Annabel was flustered and tired, but she could not relent. Not when it was obvious that something quite important was amiss!

"You do not understand," she explained tiredly for the fourth time. "He would not miss an engagement such as this. The grounds have been searched and he is not here. Something is wrong!"

The poor man sent to tend to the agitated diva wrung his hands, ran his fingers back through his thinning hair, and then straightened his jacket.

"Mademoiselle," he began cautiously. How could he explain to the visiting singer that the managers had little concern for a mere set boy, or that they had cast their lot in the crowd that figured he had run off with a harlot.

Annabel could sense his frustration and see that pursuing her search any further in this vein was futile. Instead of allowing him to finish she simply waved her hand to dismiss him. The man seemed more than eager to obey and was out the door in a breath.

"Oh, Erik..." she mused aloud. "Where _have_ you run off to?"

* * *

_For years I had to endure unthinkable brutalities at the hands of men and women alike. The gypsies are a disgusting people. The very camps they survive in are littered with filth and they do not seem to care. Quite the contrary, it is as though their very souls are blackened and only darkness, decay, and filth will sustain them. The same is true of their pleasures. I could see through the bars of my cage the women as they danced around the fire. There was nothing truly sensual or lovely about their movements. It was a raw and primal dance, the urge to copulate that drove each twirl or undulation. You can read it in the eyes of the men as they watch their women dance. As a child I did not realize then that those women, who seemed so free, were little better than I. I, the devil's child, lived in a cage made of steel. Theirs were cages of silk. My duties were to frighten and horrify the onlooker for a coin, and then to remain mute and out of the way. Their duties were to please the barbaric men who commanded them in every way demanded of them. _

_If I was shown any mercy during my time with the gypsies, it was only that my purity was not violated. I was only a child, but I had seen them abuse girls younger than I. I suppose that my horrible face is what kept them away. Or perhaps they thought that I was indeed a child of Lucifer himself, and feared what the consequences may be if they attempt to lay with me. I will never be sure._

_I do know, however, that no matter how many bleak and dreary days I survive on this earth I will never forget the lessons I learned there. No one is worthy of trust. Any attempt to seek compassion only results in pain. I have scars still to validate that point. The world is cruel and evil, under a guise of civility and etiquette. Everything is hopeless and endless._

_It is with such knowledge that I sleep, now, undoubtedly to dream again of the cruel days I have spent in one sort of prison or another. Even now, alone, I am imprisoned. Worse than before, perhaps, because it is my own mind and spirit that torture me now. I can only think of what horrors I know, and of the illusion of happiness and love that has always evaded me. What would it be like to know a man? To feel his immense strength beside me as we lay in bed, and to never fear that strength. To find it in only protection instead of the threat of more pain? What would a lovers' breath feel like upon my cheek? Not my distorted one, no. I would not even ask that of a man. I would wear a mask forever and we could pretend that I was as perfect as the vain little peacocks that strut about in the world above._

_What does love feel like? Of this I can be certain; I will never know._

_Christine_

* * *

Although each page was engrossing and horrible, Erik was forced to stop and carefully return the book to it's original home. Once he was certain she would not be able to tell he had moved it, he chose a much more mundane novel off of the shelves and returned to his seat. His vision was bleary and his eyes ached. He had been reading for what seemed to be hours. He had finished one entire volume and was nearly a quarter of the way through the next. His mind had been taken on a journey through the mind of his captor. He had seen the cruel circumstances under which she was born, the way her family had despised her and mistreated her. The story continued to unfold before his eyes, of how she had managed to survive as a filthy street urchin for several years before a inebriated man had stumbled upon her. Recognizing the value in her horrible face, he had dragged her starving form off to the gypsy camp that was in town. He had sold his new find for a meager sum, and her new life had begun. She was forced to travel as a sideshow with the band of gypsies for years. Eventually she had murdered her master and escaped, with the help of a woman named Bridgette. Surviving in the bowels of the old opera house, she had grown stronger and wiser over time. Eventually she had traveled the world, performing sordid duties for different world leaders until at last she had returned to Paris. At the same time a new opera house had been commissioned, and her architectural genius had played a large role in the construction of the new structure. Erik could only guess that it was during this time that she had hollowed out the cavernous home he was now prisoner in.

She was a genius. A composer, singer, scientist, architect, designer, mathmetician, philosopher, and many other things. Erik could not help but be awed by the sheer volume of works he had discovered to be hers upon the shelves. Apart from the journals, three in all, he had discovered that two entire shelves were filled with her own works. A variety of subjects, from literature to medicine, were the focus of her writings.

The story of her life had slowed upon the pages near his stopping point. Everything up until the completion of the new opera house was recorded, and from then her thoughts seemed to wander. They were more sporadic, seeming to touch upon random times in her life in less of an order. Erik felt as though he knew her mind now, through the hastily scribbled letters, and he could sense her growing boredom in each paragraph. She was like an animal trapped in a gilded cage.

"Perhaps I am a diversion," he muttered to himself, even as he stood to stretch his tight muscles. The fire was dying once again and he felt hunger stir within his stomach. How long would his hostess be absent?

"A diversion from what, Monsieur?" A silky voice replied, and he turned quickly at the sound. Immediately he felt flush, wondering how long she had been there. Had she observed him reading through her private thoughts without a care?

"Christine?" He called out somewhat meekly, attempting to disguise the guilt in his voice.

"Can you not see, my good man, how very exciting existence is in this place?" Sarcasm dripped from her voice and Erik found it very unappealing. It made him bristle and feel fearful. Still his gaze searched the darkened corners for her form, as her voice seemed to resonate from all of the walls.

"Christine, please.." he called again, though his tone sounded almost scolding. "Do not toy with me."

As if in answer to his plea he felt a small hand upon his shoulder. Instinctively he turned quickly and grasped it. A smirk seemed to play upon her lips, but other than that her porcelain features seemed expressionless. Erik stared down at her, waiting for her to retreat. A dangerous woman, indeed, he felt as though his best approach would be to maintain a strength of his own. To show no cowardice or fear.

As if sensing his very thoughts, Christine lifted her chin defiantly and took another step closer. He still cradled her small hand within his and the new proximity caused it to nearly rest against his chest. He was suddenly reminded of the chill of her flesh, now strangely absent. Instead it was a warm palm pressed against his own, and warm breath he could almost feel expelled against his cheek as she stood so close to him.

The poor, pitiful, loveless woman who was truly so very pretty. What could lay under the mask to cause the entire world to shun her? Erik's gaze diverted for but a moment to examine the odd adornment. Through the hole created for her eye he could see that her eye was indeed misshapen, not at all in symmetry with the other. On an impulse he could not explain, he longed to earn her trust and to wipe away all of the horrible memories he knew haunted her. His free hand lifted of it's own accord. It found easy rest against her bare cheek. His thumb traced over the line of her cheekbone, and the pleasure she found at such a simple caress nearly caused his heart to shatter. It was evident within her gaze, such a pained expression of joy. That searing gaze seemed more misty than usual.

"Christine," he sighed, his voice heavy with melancholy and pity.

The sound of his voice shattered the facade. Quickly she stumbled back from him as though burned, and the softness he had seen within her eyes was gone. Before him stood the threatening woman who held him captive. On her face was an expression of anger and disbelief.

"You _mock_ me, Monsieur?" She seethed, fingers curling into fists.

"Whatever for, Mademoiselle?" He retorted, playing her game with ease. This only seemed to infuriate her more, and so Erik stomped off toward the fire, hastily throwing another dried log onto it.

"It is you who toy with me, dear _Erik._ Do you not recall that your angel knows all, and sees all?"

Erik scoffed, standing again.

"Do you not recall that my angel was all a myth, the attempts of a rejected woman to force some sort of affection from a naive and stupid man?"

As soon as the words left his lips Erik realized he had gone too far. Shock flashed in Christine's face, before her features quickly settled into a grim line. The only emotion he could find in her was to be found in her eyes. Whether she willed it or not, those were easily read and Erik could sense the pain his words had inflicted, and the anger he had roused.

"Christine..." he spoke softly, as one would to a frightened animal.

Christine simply held up her hand to stop him, and then swept from the room. After only a moment of hesitation, Erik followed her. She had retreated to the kitchen and was busily preparing a simple meal.

Erik stood in the doorway watching her. How odd it seemed to observe this woman, obviously at least slightly off, performing such domestic tasks. From behind she looked like any other lovely woman. There was a healthy sheen to her hair, and her waist narrowed beautifully in the gown she had chosen.

The illusion drew him in, made it easier to apologize for his blunder. Erik walked towards her. It was obvious that her feminine shoulders stiffened as he approached, but he did not relent.

"Christine," he murmured lightly - lifting a hand to rest upon the swell of her shoulder without thought. It was only as his hand brushed against her bare flesh that he realized his mistake. A spark that could only be likened to an electric current shot through his fingertips and up his arm. It affected Christine apparently as well, as she turned quickly to peer up at him over her shoulder, eyes widened. Once the initial shock had run it's course Erik could only feel a burning warmth beneath his hand, and a desire stirring in his body. He recoiled in shock. Not even his precious Emma had affected him so profoundly, and it was unsettling to say the least.

Both stood simply staring at the other for a long moment, sharing the secret surprise that the simple touch had caused. Christine licked at her lips, what Erik would later come to realize was a nervous gesture she had, and Erik found himself curious as to what those same lips would taste like.

Shaking his head in frustration, he tore his gaze away from the hypnotic swirl of her own.

"I am sorry," he stated meekly. The power of the attraction he had felt had mellowed all other emotions.

"Do not apologize, you speak the truth do you not?" Christine, however, seemed to have emotion in store and so frustration and anger was still evident in her tone. Self-loathing, perhaps.

"It was unfair of me. You've endured enough for one lifetime, have you not?"

Again Erik did not realize his mistake until the moment of choice had passed and he could no sooner revoke his words than to pluck a star from the heavens.

Christine turned on him, still clutching the knife she had used for slicing bread protectively in her fist. She seemed unaware of that fact, however, as she did not brandish it as a weapon. Instead it simply waved about in the air with her gestures.

"And how would **_you_** know anything about the things I have suffered or endured? You assume I am an emotional invalid because I stalk about in the shadows of an opera house and manipulate men? For the sake of your conscience, dear Erik..."

Christine's voice escalated with each word and Erik knew he must diffuse her, or at least detract her from her current anger. As it was she was approaching him, forcing him to step backwards blindly to miss the waving of the blade.

"Christine, the knife.."

".. You are the first and only person I have ever deceived such. Furthermore, it was your own foolish sorrow that caused me to speak to you. It was unintentional that I ever overheard your useless prayers, but once I did I was moved with compassion for your sorrow. Yes, the great demon who has known nothing but horror found _compassion!"_

Erik could see within her gaze that she was gone. A world of emotion and anger had swallowed all good judgement and mere words would never shake her. Erik believed he could overpower her easily enough, physically at least. He feared the fury he would find as a result of such action, however. If he were to survive any length of time in this place he would surely have to eat, and the angry woman before him had already drugged him at least once.

"You know nothing of the life I have had to live. With your perfect face and charm I am certain you've had nothing but ease in your life, with exception only of the passing of your wife."

"**Christine!"**

Erik was angry now, the same glint reflected in his own eyes. She, of all people, had no right to speak of Emma in any way, much less to belittle her loss. In the same breath, however, thoughts of all that he had read came flooding back to Erik and he realized that it did pale in comparison to all that Christine had experienced. He had been loved by many people in his life, and fiercely so by his wife. He had lost in the end, but for a season he had known that love. Christine had never been shown affection.

Now, however, she railed about like a woman gone mad all the while waving a kitchen knife in the air. Erik had retreated until his back met the wall, and was forced to act.

"Do not pretend to understand me, Erik. That has proven to be an impossible act. Why would you defy the odds?"

In a single gesture Erik reached out quickly to subdue the arm that held the weapon. His fingers found purchase about her too-slim wrist in an attempt to immobilize it. Something within Christine snapped, however. Her eyes glazed over and she had a feral look about her. She began to thrash wildly against the confines he had placed her in, and he could only wonder if she was remembering events from her past.

"Shhh, Christine. It's me, Erik..."

The words fell on deaf ears, and within a moment Christine had surprised him with her strength. Managing to free herself, she did hold the knife as a weapon now - positioning it threateningly toward him. She was going to kill him.

She shook her head back and forth repeatedly, and no matter what Erik attempted to say she did not respond. Erik attempted to slide the length of the wall to escape her, but this effort only seemed to spook her and she lunged in his direction.

Forcing a yell, he attempted again to bring her from her mind. Meanwhile his hands darted out again in an attempt to grapple the knife from her grasp. In defense Christine swung the weapon at him, and it sliced along his shoulder. He cried out at the sharp pain, blood quickly staining his shirt. Even this did not bring Christine out of her stupor. If anything, it only exasperated the situation. She was now staring at the blood, nostrils flaring.

In his last effort to disarm her, Erik hunched over and charged her. His shoulder contacted her stomach harshly, knocking the wind from her lungs. They both tumbled onto the floor, and a well-placed blow to her hand caused the knife to fall from Christines' fingers. Out of reflex she began to grapple for it, but Erik positioned his weight atop her so that she could not move. Chest to chest, his hips grinding in almost unbearable weight atop her own.

The odd position left them at eye level, Christine panting for breath beneath him. Without thought Erik suddenly lowered his mouth and captured her lips in a kiss. It was awkward, to say the least, with the mask in place. Neither seemed to notice, however, as all of the demons which tormented Christine seemed to still at the touch of his lips. Her gaze cleared and he could see her again, just before they both allowed their eyes to close. What began as a gentle caress of lips soon escalated, Erik entreating her to open further with a flicker of his tongue. She permitted such, and soon they were entangled in a breathless and passionate embrace. It was not until Erik released her hands and lifted his fingers to stroke her face that either pulled away.


	11. Stitches

**AN - I appreciate all of your reviews. They are encouraging. I do hope more of you lurkers will drop a word in every now and then, though!**

**Three cheers for LoveMe1010, my wonderful Lotte Beta. Check out her story _The Destiny of Souls Entwined_. Very, very good read.**

**On to the show!**

* * *

Brigitte Giry was not a woman to trifle with. Her reputation about the opera house was one of a stern disciplinarian. Never known to smile, it was only her son who had ever glimpsed the softer side of her. And one other.

"I am certain something is wrong, Maman. He had no plans to be away. Quite the contrary. He had plans just last night to entertain the new diva! What fool of a man would pass up such an opportunity?" Michal was raving about, as he had been for nearly an hour, in his mothers apartment.

For her part, Brigitte was simply trying to calm him. "Perhaps not all men judge as you do, child.." she scolded.

"That, mother, is not the point! They were old friends. The story was really very rushed as I received it, but Erik looked forward to seeing her very much. Something has happened to him."

"He is a grown man, Michal. Give him peace! If he has not returned in an appropriate length of time, I am certain even the authorities will take interest. Until then, calm yourself and return to your duties. You've tarried far too long here, and have kept me from my own work."

Disgruntled, Michal obeyed and soon Madame Giry was left to her own thoughts.

It seemed only yesterday that she had procured employment for the sad young man, Erik. Upon seeing him for the first time her heart had immediately went out to him. He was a beautiful person, inside and out, and as much was evident in his speech and mannerisms. With him, however, he carried a great burden that was easily read in his gaze. Taking pity upon him and his state of distress, she had easily found a spot that needed filled in the ranks of the opera house. Since then anyone would have assumed she had all but ignored him.

Quite the contrary, she had taken an avid interest in his life. Always one to nurture, she longed to see him thrive and recover from his loss. More subtle in her ways of keeping watch, however, she had never been seen even as she occasionally followed him about. The worst possible scenario had occurred. _She_ had found him as well, and was drawn in by the appeal he displayed. It had only been over a week before when she had overheard their discussion in the tiny chapel, and later had confronted Christine about it.

_"You cannot toy with his emotions in such a way! He is suffering a terrible loss and this facade you are playing can only harm him worse! I insist, Christine, that you stop this now!" _

_Brigitte was rarely frightened of Christine. A silent understanding had passed between them all those years before. Christine would never harm Brigitte. In this situation, however, the feral anger that flashed across the half-masked face sent a shudder through the older woman. _

_Apparently Erik had changed the equation. Brigitte knew then that nothing she could do would stop Christine in this hopeless pursuit. _

_"Take care to remember your place, Madame, or I shall have to remind you." Christine spat, and then dissipated back into shadow. _

_Gathering her courage, Brigitte challenged again. "I will tell him!" Silence. Brigitte thought for a moment that she had won, until the voice that seemed to come from the rafters spoke. _

_"And ruin him? Indeed, strip away the only thing in this world that brings him joy. I breathe life into his spirit. I indulge his silly religious fantasies, and he is healing all the while. You would take that away?" _

_"And give him the truth!" Brigitte countered angrily. _

_"Yes, and how do you think he would accept it?" The voice was now almost mocking, and this time issuing from a lamp. Brigitte had not spoken again. Christine was right. To alert him so plainly to the deception would only shatter his spirit, and perhaps be his downfall. She could not do anything except sit back and watch the horrible spectacle unravel. Perhaps, as long as it was only through voice, the interaction would not be so terrible... _

"What a fool I have been!" Brigitte lamented, as she turned the knob on her door with a trembling hand.

A ballet practice demanded her immediate attention and then she would set out on a new course. To find Erik, no matter how far beneath the opera house that journey would take her.

* * *

Rehearsals were difficult. Without focus Annabel had missed several important notes, forgot quite a few lyrics, and completely missed her cues. When the impatience of those around her was unbearable, she quickly feigned a headache and retreated as though she would return to her chambers.

Instead, however, she sought out the chipper young man she had seen Erik with a time or two in the halls of the opera house. It was not difficult to find Michal, as a crowd always seemed to congregate about him and he was the center of attention.

This time he seemed to be brooding a bit, while the younger girls and boys entreated him for a story.

"Tell us of the Lady! Please, Michal, just one story." About to deny them again, Michal was silenced when he seen Annabel approaching.

He blushed, quite endearing on such a kind-hearted soul, and bowed low. "Mademoiselle.. Ah.. I am sorry, Erik has not given me your surname."

"Annabel is fine, please. I do not wish to be enthroned simply because of a title or voice. You speak of Erik. Do you know where he has gotten off to? He missed our dinner engagement and that is quite unlike him." Annabel tried to hide her concern, and seem nonchalant about such a query. She failed, however, and her very words trembled with worry.

"No, Mademoiselle, I do not. I share your concern." Michal responded earnestly, glad that someone else was finally taking the situation at hand quite seriously!

"Then please, escort me to his quarters? To...ah.. Leave a note. Yes." Annabel was a horrible liar as well, and Michal easily read through her deception. He did not indicate such, however, as he turned to lead her toward Eriks' room. For what purpose, he could not decide, but he would not deny such a lovely lady.

* * *

Warm flesh contrasted sharply with the cool, hard leather. Beneath his fingertips Erik found both extremes, and as though he had forgotten she wore a mask at all, it gave him pause. He reluctantly relinquished the lips he had captured beneath his own to gaze down at the woman beneath him. Both were breathless now, and their position on the floor could remind Erik of nothing other than making love. Even as his body responded to the notion, he attempted to clear his mind.

Although every inch of him screamed to kiss her again. To go deeper, taste more, to know her, he would not allow himself to act in such a manner. The haze over his mind began to lift and he stared down at her, fingers still in place upon both of her cheeks. Now he could see that her eyes were still closed. A look of pleasure rested on her features and he was struck again by her beauty. Dark, enthralling, perhaps even strange beauty. Her lips were swollen from their kiss and parted as she drank in the cool oxygen as one deprived. He began to stroke her cheeks, flesh and mask alike, wanting to see her eyes. Longing for her to look at him, to recognize him as the source of affection. Perhaps that would defray any further grappling for the knife.

Christine flinched as he began to touch her mask, and immediately panicked. Her eyes snapped open and Erik could easily read fear within them. Her hand lifted to brush away his own over her mask and she held it against her face protectively.

"Never, Christine. Not without your permission." Erik replied to her fears without the need for her to voice them, and although she seemed to calm beneath his words, she did not remove her hand. Suddenly realizing himself to still be laying atop Christine, Erik shifted to relieve her of his weight.

The gesture caused the muscles in his arms and shoulders to flex, and he was reminded of his wound. He released something akin to a groan and sat up awkwardly beside her. He turned to survey the damage for the first time. His shirt was tattered, and blood had soaked the entire sleeve. With a glance aside he could see that his own blood had soiled Christines' gown as well, and was even smeared across her bosom. He could only stare at the sight for a moment, before chiding himself harshly for harboring such twisted desire.

Returning to the matter at hand, he attempted to view the wound itself. It spread from the top of his shoulder down nearly to his elbow, and was quite deep. It still bled profusely, but Erik was surprised to find it caused less pain than he would have anticipated.

"Christine," he muttered softly, not having noticed that she had already risen and left the room. When he turned to find her gone, for a moment fear gripped his own heart. If the wound was not closed he would bleed to death, and she had left him for dead in her tomb of a home! The fear was quickly assuaged however as she beckoned from the other room.

"Erik, make haste." He obeyed, soon joining her in the parlor. She had positioned a chair by the fire and motioned for him to sit in it. He did so, and without looking him in the eye, she began to tend his wound.

"I must stitch it," she muttered so quietly Erik hardly heard her speak. He simply nodded his assent, gripping at the arms of the chair tightly. The entire process hurt worse than the wound ever had, and Erik felt weak and nauseous by the time it was completed. Christine moved silently as she cleaned up the mess of blood he had left and put away her supplies. Although he desired to go after her, to force her to speak about the incident in the kitchen, Erik could not find the strength. He simply sat there and, without realizing it, dozed off.


	12. Tears

**Continuation from the last chapter. I hope you enjoy. And review!**

* * *

Though he could not be sure how long he had slept, Erik felt much better when he was awakened by the scraping of a footstool upon the floor. Christine was pulling it closer to his chair, and then she settled upon it, book in hand.

"You were reading this, yes? How do you like the story so far?" Her tone of voice was smooth and level, without an ounce of familiarity. It was as though her madness and their kiss had been forgotten.

"Christine, about before..."

Christine interrupted him. "You must rest, you've lost a lot of blood. I am brewing a tea that will give your strength back. Until then, I owe it to you to play a gracious host do I not?" Sarcasm tinged the words, and Christine struggled within herself. She longed to apologize, to weep for causing him such pain, and to weep for joy at the simple affection he had given her. Such a wall had been built about her heart, however, that even when she longed to she found she could not tear it away.

Erik looked hurt by her distance, but instead of pushing the subject he simply waved dismissively toward the book.

"No, I do not recognize it." He replied quietly.

"Surely you must," Christine insisted. "It was the very book you had left open beside of the table. The one you were reading when I returned." Now her gaze had narrowed suspiciously.

"Ah, yes. That one.." Erik quickly stammered, also a horrible liar. "Please forgive me, I feel quite faint yet and I do not have my wits about me. It is quite good."

"Oh? It has been many years since I have read it. Would you care to give me a synopsis of what has occurred so far?" Christine pushed him, now clutching the book a bit too tightly.

Erik looked everywhere but at her. The fire refused to provide an answer, and so he looked at the rug. Thick and plush, it was obviously a very fine rug. But it, as well, only greeted him with silence. After several moments he felt quite the coward, and so he met her gaze. She was only a woman, and to cower before her was beneath him. Their eyes locked, and in the simple glance all truth was revealed.

Anger welled dangerously within Christine, but she forced herself to simply sit and stare at him. An earnestness was in his gaze, a plea of some sort. Christine could feel it tugging at her, and demons within began to struggle fiercely. At any other moment she would have flown into another fit of rage. That much had been demonstrated already in the kitchen, earlier. Now, however, she found a tiny scrap of calm to cling to and refused to let the turbulence of her mind manifest itself.

"I have given you so much, Erik. Time, training, encouragement. Anything you needed I laid at your feet. How could you betray me in such a way?" The words were barely spoken.

Indeed, Erik had to lean forward to hear her. Surprise flashed in his eyes. How had she known his activities while she was gone? Had she guessed as much? Remorse followed, and he diverted his gaze.

"How did you know?" He queried softly.

Christine was trembling with pent-up rage, but still she managed to keep her voice calm.

"I returned to find you replacing one of them. I had hoped, no.. I had assumed that you had realized it's contents and returned it untouched. You are such a virtuous man, I did not think you could do such a thing."

"Typically I would not have, that much is true. Perhaps now you can empathize with my horror and surprise to find that, not only has someone made themselves privy to my very prayers, but they pretended to be an angel of God!"

It was a strange scene to behold. Two individuals full of anger and frustration at the actions of the other, yet neither lifted their voices above little more than a whisper. Perhaps it was the insanity of the moments before, or the passion of the kiss, but whatever the cause - their physical bodies refused to act out the emotion felt within. Christine was silenced by his retort, and glowered into the fire. She wanted to snap back at him, to explain that it was quite different indeed. Somehow her actions were justified. She only sought to bring him comfort, to produce some sort of joy in a world that had only despised her. His motivations were... what?

"Why? What interests you so? Why bother?"

Erik sighed, a heavy and sad sound that caused Christine to turn to him again.

"Can we not just say that we are even? Your sin is no more justified than mine, and we have both wronged one another. You know my innermost thoughts, and now I know a few of yours. If nothing else, we should be bonded to each other through such revelation. You know me! Do you honestly think I would do it out of ill-intent?" Erik was leaning forward now, with his injured arm cradled protectively against his chest.

"I thought you hated me, after what I had done. How was I to know what you would and would not do out of ill-intent?" Christine retorted before she thought, instantly regretting the spar. Erik refused to be baited, however, and continued to watch her earnestly.

"I want to be your friend, Christine. I know that you despise pity, I have read as much in your very own words. I do not pity you. I feel moved with great compassion for you, and very sorry for all of the things you have endured. I feel compelled to apologize on behalf of humanity for her crimes committed against you, but I know that you would not accept such."

Christine began to speak, to interrupt him, finally standing from her seat upon the footstool.

Erik silenced her however, and continued. "I would apologize, however, for reading your private thoughts. To do so would be a lie, I must admit, but if it would placate you I would do it. I do not regret reading those words because someone needed to! You are brilliant and yet you hide beneath the earth locked away like a rat! It is deplorable to think that you do not even share your thoughts with another person. I cannot tolerate such a waste, I will not." Erik had finally stood as well.

Once the room stopped spinning, he followed after her as she retreated. Finally she stilled at the edge of the lake, positioned with her back to him.

"It may be difficult to hear such words, but I refuse to let them fall upon deaf ears." He reached for her, grasping her slender shoulders to turn her about. As she turned, her head lowered so that he could not see her face. He lifted a hand to tuck beneath her chin, forcing her gaze upwards. What he found within were unshed tears. Sorrow flooded his heart at the knowledge of all that she had endured, and now she stood before him so helpless. Vulnerable, and obviously struggling to keep peace. He could sense her anger and frustration, and attempted to calm her.

"Oh, Christine." He muttered, again stroking her cheek just as a salty tear fell from her lashes to kiss pale cheek. He wiped it away with his thumb, and then kissed the place where it had fallen. Such a familiar act would have been unthought of in any situation but this one.

Erik was a gentleman and would never kiss a woman so brazenly, even after their rendezvous in the kitchen. He knew, however, that etiquette was unimportant to Christine, and that this broken woman needed the token of affection more than propriety. The action caused her resolve to melt and she finally collapsed into his waiting arms to weep.

He held her, eventually hefting her into his arms (against her complaints about tearing his stitches), and carrying her back into the warmth of the parlor. There he settled with her in the chair and simply rocked her as he would a child, singing quiet lullabies into her hair. The peace they found in that moment would not last long. After a meal and sleep, their troubles would return and they would surely bicker again. For now, however, both found peace in the unusual embrace and eventually even Christine slept.


	13. Freedom

**Not as long as I would have intended, but it's been such a long time I just wanted to get it out there to you guys. A million, zillion things have happened that have delayed any update so please forgive me. Also, this may be a little rusty because I've lost my beta's e-mail address! Oh no! So, Little Lotte, please e-mail me if you get the chance. :)**

**At any rate, please review.**

**M**

* * *

Annabel and Michel rushed through the corridors of the opera house, finally arriving at the door to Erik's room. It was plain and nondescript, just like all of the other doors lining this hall. The servant's quarters. Michel rapped insistently upon the door, and Annabel called out to him. When neither were effective, Michel forced the door open and the two stepped within. The room was small, rather stifling, and had little to show the personality of Erik. The only thing out of place at all was a rather expensive silver tray settled atop his bedside table. As Michel rushed about checking for anything amiss, Annabel approached the tray and overturned chalice. She lifted the cup to smell the contents. It smelled like any fine wine. She was about to turn away from it, simply chalking it up as strange, when at last her gaze fell upon the note.

"_A gift from the Lady. Please enjoy."_

Hurt welled within her, bringing a flush to her face. Erik was entertaining another, apparently wealthy woman? While she had no right to impose upon his life or choices, secret hopes were shattered by this revelation. With shaking hands she released the slip of paper and watched it fall haphazardly toward the floor. She turned with unshed tears still brimming in her eyes and walked out without a word. Michel could do nought but follow after her, oblivious to the exchange that had taken place while he had picked over his friend's room.

"Annabel!" He called helplessly, struggling to keep up with her as she stormed away.

"What a fool I have been," she muttered to herself, seeking distance from his quarters.

* * *

Christine and Erik had both slept soundly in that awkward position, nestled too close within a simple armchair. Erik had long ago lost feeling in his right arm, which cradled Christine's back and supported her weight at the price of being pinned beneath her. For once, dreams did not torment Christine and she awoke before he did, with a start.

"Mon Dieu," she breathed softly as she realized where she was. His body was warm beneath her, and Christine could hardly recall a time when even the tips of her fingers seemed as warm as they did now. Peace had coaxed his features into a state of relaxation, and he seemed so peaceful as he slept. Christine had watched him sleep often, but this new vantage point was quite different. Not only could she see the rising of his chest with each breath, and hear it expelled betwixt parted lips, but she could feel it's warmth against the column of her throat, and the shift in his body against her.

Should she move? Grant him the distance from her that he rightfully deserved? Or would it only wake him? Perhaps she should stay until he was roused from sleep himself, granting him at least that deserved rest.

While she struggled with these questions, one thing was made clear to Christine. She could not keep him here any longer. The gentleness and compassion he had shown to her was unique in her entire lifetime. No one had ever looked upon her in such a way, and to repay his gift of kindness she would have to release him from the snare. She would send him back to the surface, to his world of daylight, and no longer taint it with her darkness.

Having decided on such, she shifted to crawl from his lap as quietly as she could. This immediately roused Erik, who mistakenly thought she was falling. His arms darted out to encircle her waist and he pulled her tightly against him. Christine released a soft "oomph" as the air was pushed from her lungs, and a groggy Erik murmured in her ear.

"Are you alright?"

Christine, the Lady who haunted the Opera House itself, blushed. Her flesh was pressed so provocatively against Erik's taut body that she had a difficulty formulating her answer. Instead she simply nodded. He released her then, and she quickly stood. Erik stretched languidly, seemingly at ease despite all of the antics of the night before.

Christine found herself doubting her decision. Could she really release him so easily? This ray of light that had been cast into her own prison, could she relinquish the hope that shone so brightly with it? Erik smiled at her, and this cemented her thoughts. That light would fade and eventually die within the darkness that shrouded her. She would have to release him. She turned from him coldly, and in a voice that reflected none of the familiarity they had shared the evening before, she stated.

"Go and dress. I will return you now. The fools above will notice you are missing soon enough."

Erik was left with a surprised expression as she disappeared from the room. How could a single person be so complex. She had wept openly in his arms, allowing him to dry her tears with his kisses and soothe him with his songs. Like a child she had allowed herself to be cradled and comforted, and now she was as aloof as ever. The chill in her aura had returned and Erik felt displaced. He was torn between racing after her and forcing the woman within to the surface again, banishing the demons which tormented her daily and taking the offered escape. He had missed his dinner with Annabel, surely she would be worried and as neurotic as Michel was he would have the entire opera house in an uproar over the pitiful lost stagehand.

Erik stood and walked toward the room that had been deemed as _his_, resolute. He would return to the surface at her behest, to calm those he had left above. He had little doubt that Christine would leave him to that life, however. She would return for him eventually, and he would be ready.

* * *

The tunnels were less difficult to navigate when Erik was lucid, and although he tried to remember every turn he was quickly confused and had given up on the task. He would only be permitted into Christine's world when, and if she desired it. He followed along behind her ghostly figure as they made their way upwards, eventually stopping behind what appeared to be a dead end. Christine hesitated for a long moment, and then reached to press the indentation upon the stone which would cause the panel to slide open. It did, revealing his room just as he had left it. Christine stepped aside to allow him to pass, and he did. She turned to retreat into the tunnel once more, but Erik grasped her wrist to stall her.

"Christine..." he began, unsure as to what he should say to this woman who had been so cruel and deceptive to him, and yet pulled at his heartstrings.

Christine lifted her cool gaze to his, and they seemed so empty to him. It was as though he had siphoned all of the life and joy from her with his single word. Erik released her as though burned, so taken aback by what was reflected within her eyes.

Again she turned to leave, and he finally found words to say.

"How do I find you? When I want to see you, I mean... What I should say is.. " He stumbled over his words, but did not miss the surprise that registered on the portion of her face that was not hidden beneath the mask.

Why would he ask her such a question, here, upon the brink of his freedom? Why would one beg the executioner for another audience? Christine could not understand his reasoning, and so answered unwittingly.

"The Rue Scribe."

With that she was gone, and the panel did indeed slide closed once more. The wall looked as ordinary and drab as it ever had, and for a moment Erik felt as though it were all a dream. He turned to take in his surroundings. The bottle and chalice upon the tray affirmed that it was, indeed, not a dream and as he crouched to pick up the letter that had fallen he recalled his first suspicion of who had sent the gift.

"Annabel," he breathed, grabbing a jacket and making his way out of his door quickly. The last thing he intended was to hurt a childhood friend, and perhaps the last link to his past.


	14. Discovery

"Ze diva is busy, Monsieur, and will see no one." The look of disdain the pudgy man passed towards Erik made it clear that Erik was not suitable to ever entertain such a lady as it were. Erik ran his fingers through his dark hair in a gesture of frustration, turning away from the man to leave. In a last attempt he turned again.

"Tell her it is Erik. She will see me."

The pudgy caretaker huffed and disappeared through the gilded doors leading to Annabel's chamber. He was inside only a moment before he ducked back out again, a smug expression on his round face.

"Ze lady has expressed that she doesn't wish to see you Monsieur. Now, or ever."

The thick accent the man carried was beginning to grate on Erik's nerves, and he grumbled in distrust.

"Anna would never say such a thing, you little..."

Just as he would his fists within the man's collar to give him a sound shaking, a sweet voice from the door interrupted the scuffle.

"Monsieur Mauer, I insist that you release him at once! What gives you the right to accost this man?"

Annabel was standing within her doorway now, and Erik brushed the man aside to step towards her.

"Anna, please forgive me for my absence. It was unforeseen and - ..."

The words trailed off as Erik neared her, one glance into her pretty features causing him worry.

"Have you been crying?"

Annabel felt as though his concern would be her undoing. When he lifted his hand to wipe at the damp trails still upon her cheeks, her first inclination was to allow her eyes to close and tilt her head into his palm. After a moment too brief of this fascinating comfort, she retreated. Her head snapped up as though he had burned her and she stepped back.

"That, Monsieur, is none of your concern." _Even if it was your doing._ Her voice betrayed her, and trembled.

Confusion clouded Erik's features.

"What is this about, Anna? Why are you being so formal and aloof? Have I slighted you in some way? If you are upset over my absence, please understand..."

Annabel silenced him by lifting her hand.

"It is entirely improper for a lady of my status to be seen with a man of yours," Anna muttered a bit too harshly. The barb had its effect and she could see Erik blanch at her words. Disbelief then filled his gaze. Before he could speak to argue, she continued.

"I do not wish to see you. Now, nor ever. Leave, Monsieur."

Erik stood, mouth agape, staring at the incensed woman as she turned to retreat again into her decadent lodging. How could things have changed so much in the time he was gone. It had only been a matter of hours. Or perhaps days? He was not sure. At any rate, if Annabel had been trying to hurt him she had managed to do so. Her words baited him to anger and he found himself scowling at her closed door.

"So be it," he spat, and then stalked away himself.

* * *

Michel was not the most astute person in the world, and often the bubble of euphoria that followed him everywhere clouded his vision to the troubles of others. Tonight was different, however. A blind man could see the anger and frustration that exuded from Erik. From the way he practically slammed his plate onto the table, or roughly tore at his meat with knife and fork, it was clear something was amiss.

"Did something terrible happen, Erik? Where were you for so long, anyway? Everyone was worried!"

Erik snorted in reply. "Who would care?"

"The new diva, for one!" Michel retorted with a grin, thinking it would please Erik to hear of Annabel Lafeyer's interest in him. Erik glanced up quickly.

"You must be jesting."

"Why would I make a joke out of such a thing! She was convinced you were injured and would have had all of Paris in an uproar if she hadn't calmed down when she did. Although, I don't know if she calmed down at all. With the way she stormed out of your room and all..." Michel babbled, pushing his food around on his plate.

"What did you say?" Erik asked quickly, his knife and fork clattering against the table as he dropped them in surprise. "You took _her_ to my room? Are you mad?"

Erik felt humiliated. Surely Annabel had seen where he lived and realized just how low he had fallen. Now she was truly embarrassed to associate with him. Hurt flared within his heart as it had not done in months. Not since his _angel..._

Michel's voice interrupted his introspection.

"We were so worried. You must understand. We did not stay long, either. Really she glanced at your bedside table and then stormed out. She would not speak to me again and I have not seen her since. I do not know what spooked her so."

The importance of the words Michel uttered was lost upon Erik as he struggled within himself. All of the emotional turmoil that had threatened to consume him had been eased, taken away in gentle song. He had found his life balancing delicately upon the edge of happiness. No, contentment. And then Anna had returned, and now insulted and hurt him deeply. He found himself ill-prepared to deal with the strength of the emotions churning within him. He muttered a hasty excuse and exited the table without a glance back.

* * *

Madame Giry rapped impatiently upon the floor of the chapel with the end of her stick. It echoed, and then again.

"Christine!" She snapped, stalking from one side of the room to another. Only a single burning candle lit the dreary room.

"You dare speak to me in such a way, _Madame?_ I am not your precious little pup, Michel."

The cool voice came from everywhere and nowhere, mocking her in her title and baiting her with reference to her beloved son. Madame Giry would not fall to that level, however, and chose to ignore the jaded words.

"I trust that your foul mood has nothing to do with Erik," she countered hastily.

"Oh, Madame, when will you ever learn that the best way to find something out is to simply ask."

"Do not mock me!" The older woman replied with a bit of venom, whirling about in the direction of the voice. "And for Christ's sake end the foolish voice tricks. Show yourself in the flesh."

As if on cue, Christine lifted her cool fingers to Madame's shoulder from behind.

"_Boo." _She whispered, causing Madame Giry to jump. She turned to scowl at the Lady.

"Did you take him?" Madame demanded, nostrils flaring in anger. Christine laughed, madness overriding emotion.

"Have we been through this before? Ah, yes. It is none of your concern what I do with him, Madame..." Madness overruled emotion for control and the taunting in Christine's tone was unnerving.

"Christine, please. Leave him be. He is a handsome man who deserves to find a wife, happiness..." Madame began to plead.

A misspoken word, or a reference that cut too close to the truth, caused something within Christine to snap. In a breath she had pushed the older woman against the cruel stone wall and was all but snarling in her face. With a crude gesture she motioned toward her mask.

"Something that _this_ will always prevent me from being, yes Madame? Someone suited to be docile and perfectly pretty. To bear perfect children and make his dinner on time. That is what he deserves, isn't it? Something I'd never be fit to give! Those are your implications, are they not Madame."

Madame Giry's eyes widened. Not in fright or fear, but in realization.

"God save us all, you're _in love_ with him!"


	15. The Letter

**I just have to say that my beta, LoveMe1010 is amazing.**

**Here is a long one for you! Keep reviewing, please.**

* * *

Madame's words were stinging. Christine recoiled at the bitter remark and turned away. Calling on the last vestige of her patience she hissed through clenched teeth.

"Leave me."

Even the stern Giry knew not to trifle with Christine at times, and this was certainly one of them. With one last huff she gathered her matronly skirts and ascended the stairs from the chapel. Christine was left staring into the lonely flicker of the single candle. _Love?_ What a ridiculous notion! She could not be in love. Love required giving, compassion, understanding and vulnerability. Christine perhaps could manage the trio, but the last one was impossible for her. Too many wounds had been opened, too much damage done in her lifetime. She could never willingly place herself in another's hands to be crushed again.

_"No one can love you!" Her father spat, even as the tiny girl wept for his love._

_"Use you, perhaps. Lie to you, manipulate you, take what they need from you - you are an animal, after all .. but no one will ever love you!"_

Christine shuddered at the words that came unbidden to mind and suddenly felt very exposed in the solitary chapel. She turned to meld into darkness again, agitation stirring within her. Madame Giry should certainly guard her tongue.

* * *

Erik found himself disgusted with his room, unable to step within as he reached the threshold. It seemed to echo so many things. The poor state of his life, the loss of his wife and child, the facade of his angel, and finally the rejection of his most precious childhood friend. Nothing could draw him inside so instead he turned to the streets. Leaving the opera house was instantly a relief and Erik breathed deep of the Parisian night air. His eyes scanned the streets about, in search of something to release his energy and emotions upon. When nothing else caught his attention, he made his way to the pub which he had visited only several nights before with Michel and his friends. The night Anna had came back into his life.

A seat at the end of the bar was easily obtained and Erik began to drink. As each glass emptied it seemed that the ache within his heart and the confusion in his mind lessened. Each droplet of the amber liquid numbed his pain and Erik would give the last of his coins to obtain that release.

When the barkeep would give him no more, Erik merely glowered at the man and paid his ticket. He arose to leave and after stumbling over several chairs and muttering slurred apologies to a few patrons, he managed to make it to the door. His overindulgence had not gone unnoticed, however, and a small group of men followed after him. If the man could afford to drink so heavily, he must have some coin on him. They waited until Erik, walking at an agonizingly slow pace, passed a darkened alley before they acted.

* * *

"Messieurs, I assure you that I have exhausted all of my facilities and there is simply no sign of him. It is as though he has simply disappeared."

Jean and Antoine both released a heavy sigh at the disappointing news. For over a year they had been searching for their nephew. He had parted ways with them to marry the common girl, and they had all but shunned him - assuming such an action would cause him to rethink the repercussions of his actions and change his mind. After six months, however, and no word they decided to try to repair the relationship themselves. It was not completely unheard of for a commoner to marry a man of station, however. Just completely undesirable.

Their search had been fruitless and now they were on the verge of giving up.

"What if something terrible has happened to him, Antoine?" Jean worried aloud, always the nervous one.

"Erik is a strong and clever man, Jean. I am quite sure he is well. Perhaps we are just not looking in the right places.." the elder of the two brothers replied, worrying his mustache between his fingers in a gesture that irritated the third man in the room to no end.

The portly investigator shifted uncomfortably in his chair, waiting for their further command. He had been rewarded handsomely for his efforts since this entire debacle began. To see it end now would also see a rather dramatic decrease in his profits.

"Ah, gentlemen.. perhaps Monsieur is right. Perhaps we are not looking in the right places. I could expand the search, try to trace his path.. look in the larger cities. Although, such an effort would undoubtedly be more expensive.." He muttered hastily.

Antoine glanced at the greedy man with something akin to disgust and acquiesced.

"Find him, Pierre, and you will be more than rewarded for your efforts."

* * *

_"I am your angel of music... come to me angel of music.."_

_"Christine! Please. Do not do this to me. I do not want the disguise.. Do not toy with me.." the voice was broken, sad._

_"But Erik," the sweet voice replied, replacing the song with words. "If you do not want the guise, the detached angel - what is it that you want?"_

Erik groaned as he found consciousness. His head was splitting and he found he had difficulty opening his eyes at all. In his drunken stupor he had barely seen the men who had attacked him, beating him viciously only to find precious few coins. They had cursed and beaten him all the more for the inconvenience before leaving him in the same alley he had fallen prey in. Now he was alone, except for the scatter of vermin near his face and the realization revolted him enough that he vomited onto the ground.

"Oh, god.." he muttered helplessly, drawing his arms about his midsection. He felt as though every rib had been crushed by their ruthless kicks, and he was not even sure he could walk. He struggled to right himself and when he finally managed, he became disoriented. Still thoroughly intoxicated, he could not find his way to the street - despite the lamps that beckoned. Instead he walked further into the alleyway until it intersected with a different street. Following many alleys and streets in what he would later realize was a massive circle, he found himself at the Rue Scribe entrance to the Opera House.

"Angel.." he muttered as he collapsed just short of the entrance.

_Erik felt happy. The pain and melancholy was gone, and for now the most important thing was to draw his lady out of her hiding place._

_"Come out!" He said with laughter in his voice, darting about the massive columns in an attempt to find her hiding place. Soft laughter rang out in response to his plea, and he darted after it. It felt good to run again, to exert his muscles so fully and feel his youth. Often he felt so very aged that he forgot his body still retained so much of its vitality._

_"Please, I want to see you.."_

_Again a giggle. Erik could not explain the feeling within his chest, but he knew that if he could capture his sprite all of the pain would remain a distant memory. To hold her, to taste her - would be fulfillment._

_Erik felt himself laughing deeply, fully. It felt as though his lungs had not breathed until now. Who was this mysterious woman that he longed for? He wanted to call her name, but found he did not know it._

_"My lady," he implored - pausing behind another massive column in this dreamscape._

_"E-rik.." the voice called in a singsong quality that was so familiar and soothing to his spirit. The voice came from behind him and Erik swirled about in time to see her retreating form. A perfectly white gown trailed out behind her, and dark locks trailed behind. Even at a glimpse she was beautiful. He immediately gave chase. _

_This time he managed to catch her. She did not turn, only allowed him to encircle her with his arms. He buried his face within her luxuriant hair, losing himself in the sweet scent. His fingers splayed possessively across her stomach, and then her hips. He found himself enthralled, aroused, and completed with this creature in his arms. His lips sought her throat, to which he lavished moist kisses. She moaned, and turned in his arms. He lifted his head to look into her eyes..._

"Erik! Erik, come. You must help me move you. You are too large.."

The words were jumbled and his name was all he really understood. His swollen lids managed to open and there, just as he would have viewed his lovers face, was his angel. His Christine.

He could only laugh. How ironic and beautiful that her face should complete his vision. She who had healed his soul with her song and words.

"Oh, yes. I am glad it is you.." he slurred. Christine dismissed his words as drunken foolishness.

"Yes, yes. I am sure you are." She replied, attempting to bring him to a sitting position.

He ignored her seriousness and lifted his dirty hand to touch her exposed cheek.

"You're lovely.. you know that, don't you angel? Surely someone has told you how lovely you are?" The way his eyes bore into hers as she spoke, his flattering words, the touch of his fingers upon her face - Christine felt undone. Affection coursed through her in the form of weakness, and she cursed. This caused him to laugh, and after several moments of the silly sound she found herself fighting a smile.

"Please, Erik. We must get you out of the streets and tend to your wounds." She attempted to reason with him.

Erik began to shuffle at her insistence and managed to stand, his arm draped heavily over her shoulders.

"I prayed for you, y'know.." he stated, his words heavy and hard to discern. "'course you know, you answered didn't you?" Another laugh, and then he sobered a bit. "I think perhaps God did send you after all, my angel. Look now, you're saving me again! How many times will you pick this pitiful wretch up?"

Christine was breathing heavily from the exertion of supporting nearly all of his body weight, but the words she could hear were uncharacteristic and strange from Erik. She simply allowed him his drunken babblings as she navigated through the tunnels with him, until they finally arrived in her sitting room. She all but dropped him unceremoniously onto a sofa and went to fetch the things she would need to mend him.

It was luck really, that she had found him at all. After pacing for an hour or two in her lair she had decided to go to the surface, to cool her thoughts and anger with the night air. Instead she had stumbled upon the token of her frustration, in a pitiful heap at the Rue Scribe. What could have driven him to drinking so heavily, and why would he be attacked? Christine felt a blinding anger threaten to consume her as she considered those responsible for such an atrocity. How she would love to watch them writhe in the pain of death..

A soft cough broke her reverie and Christine finished gathering the supplies. She returned to the sitting room to find Erik draped across the sofa, and sound asleep. With a heavy sigh she lowered the basin of cool water to the floor and knelt there. With a gentleness that would surprise all that knew of her legends, she began to play nursemaid to the broken man.

* * *

_The figure turned within his arms, and Erik glanced up from his feast at her throat to look into her face._

_"Christine," he murmured in surprise. She only smiled at him, the white of her mask so starkly contrasted to her living flesh. A feeling of dread began to settle within him, ruining the sensuous and romantic pleasure that had filled his dream._

_"No. It cannot be. You lied to me, Christine. Deceived me so.. How can I trust you? How?"_

_Christine lifted a finger to press to his lips. Once he was silenced she followed it with her own kiss, tasting of him in an agonizingly slow manner. Finally she pulled away, and mouthed._

_"See me, Erik. See **me.**"_

_Erik did not know what that could mean, and his brow furrowed in obvious confusion. _

Before his apparition could reply, however, a sharp pain at his hairline awoke him. He swung at the attack, capturing what felt like a frail arm in his wake. His fingers dug into the cool flesh, as he pulled it forcefully away from him. He attempted to sit up quickly, but only felt ill in doing so. He managed to pry his lids apart enough to see the person at his side.

"Christine?" he asked, his voice cracked and broken. She had tended to him throughout the night and into the morning. It was nearly noon now and he was only beginning to stir.

"Yes, Erik.." she replied quietly, attempting to extract her arm from his grasp. He released her quickly, lifting a hand to his brow.

"It hurt.." he explained simply, in the same way a child would.

"Yes," she replied again. "It is rather deep."

"What happened?" He queried with a groan. Oh how his head was pulsing. He would never drink again, he decided in that moment.

Christine pursed her lips in preparation to scold him for his foolish actions.

"Apparently you drank more than your share of liquor. What a foolish decision, Erik! Those men could have killed you." She chided as she lifted from her knees at his side.

Erik laughed, but it was a hollow and sad sound. "Who would care?"

Instead of pity Christine only felt frustration at his wallowing.

"You're precious little diva, perhaps?" Christine said with a little more vindictiveness than she intended. She had seen Anna shun him and knew the words would sting. Silently she cursed herself. Why did she find it necessary to lash out?

Erik flinched at the words, but did not speak immediately. Instead he simply stared at Christine, until she felt uncomfortable with the scrutiny and stood to leave. She lifted the basin filled with water from the floor but before she could turn away from him his hand darted out to encircle her tiny wrist. The bloodied water sloshed out of its container and soaked a leg of his trousers. Both glanced at the result, neither spoke. Instead they looked to each other again. Were they destined to always argue and fight?

"Would you?" Erik finally asked quietly.

"Would I what?" Christine countered, her train of thought having been diverted by the spill.

"Care."

"Care about what? Oh, I see. Your death." Christine paused for thought. While every inch of her screamed that his death would be her own end, she could not very well admit that to his face. In the same vein as her earlier thoughts, she realized that to do so would make her vulnerable, a risk she could not take.

"Of course. Have I not invested many hours into your voice and spirit? You're destined for greater things than death."

Erik released her quickly, and Christine realized just how cool the room was in the absence of his warm touch. She stifled a sigh and turned to the kitchen. Bringing him here had not been a good idea at all.

Erik, meanwhile, simply stared after her. Of all the people to have rescued him, she was probably the worst. Their relationship, whatever it was, was already wrought with tension over their last meeting and Erik felt he needed time to dwell upon it all. That time was denied him and he was thrust into her presence again. While he should be thankful for her intervention, he was frustrated. Frustrated at his own foolishness for drinking so much, at Anna for being so childish without explanation, for Emma for dying, at and Christine for being so fickle. In one moment she smiled at him, appearing to be a gentle woman. In those moments he found himself unable to deny the desire to kiss her again, to feel that jolt that coursed through him at the touch of her lips. In another she was scowling and lashing out at him, saying cruel things as though she were trying to drive him away.

Christine had returned, and Erik glanced up at her.

"You can...I mean to say... You're in no shape to go above just yet. Would you care for soup and a drink? Non-alcoholic, mind you.."

There, she was doing it again. The way her arms were crossed over her chest as though she could protect herself from his denial with them, and the way she leaned against the doorway. It caused her long, dark tresses to spill over her shoulder and curl against the top of her breasts - exposed at the top of her dress. With every breath the locks licked at creamy flesh and while Erik certainly did not realize he was staring, he could only watch them. How soft that flesh must be! How would Christine taste? Tearing his eyes away from the sight, they lifted upwards along the smooth column of her throat to her lips - unusually ruby lips that beckoned him.

"Temptress," he muttered under his breath.

"Excuse me?" Christine replied, and only then did he notice the impatient look upon her face.

"Of course," he replied, "I would appreciate such a gesture. Thank you, Christine, it is kind of you."

Christine left the room grumbling something about being kind, leaving Erik alone in his own aroused confusion.

* * *

Another page was crumpled and tossed upon the floor. Anna worried her bottom lip betwixt pearly teeth as she considered her words carefully, and then began to pen them again. Her fingers were smudged with ink and a pile of crumpled paper on the floor beside her indicated that she had been at this for well over an hour.

"Why is this so difficult!" She exclaimed, and then rested her forehead in her palm with a sigh.

"Because you've acted like a child, you idiot. What do you say in apology to that?"

She drummed her fingers upon the table, turned the lamp up and down, and tapped her toes. Finally, a thought came to her.

_Dearest Erik,_

_I remember as a child you were always my rescuer. You would save me from whatever tree I had climbed too high in, or chase away the monsters in my closet. Do you remember when I was twelve and that Peter boy tried to kiss me? You blacked his eye! Oh, I know you got into so much trouble over that but you were always my prince. My hero. Now I find myself in this palace with all that I could have ever wanted, but as long as there is something amiss between us I cannot be content. I did not expect to find you here, to see you in the street that night. My delight in doing so cannot be expressed in words, however. Do you know that I thought of you each day, always? I even found myself comparing all of the suitors in my life to you. If they were not as brave, or daring, or compassionate as my Erik then they simply did not measure up._

_I have not acted as though those things are true. I have acted foolishly and jealously. When I found the note (please forgive me for this Erik, I was so worried) in your room from another lady, I was furious. Oh to say these things embarrasses me so, but I had thought.. or hoped.. that perhaps you and I, well.. that we could become more acquainted as the adults that we are now. I did not realize that you were already involved with another woman, and that discovery left me feeling foolish and pushed aside. As I have had time to consider such a thing, however, I realize that I could not expect you to hold a place for me in your life. If you have recovered enough from the loss of your dear wife to find comfort in the companionship of another woman, I am happy for you. Really._

_Please accept this explanation of my foolish romantic notions and forgive my actions. I did not mean those things I said to you. I hope that we can rekindle our friendship._

_Always your Anna._

Content with the letter, she folded it and sealed it. Once she had cleaned the ink from her hands and righted a bit of her mess she hurried out of her room to deliver the very important message.

* * *


	16. Delivery

**I am sorry it has taken so long to update. In an effort to get it out sooner to you, I skipped my wonderful beta for this update. I wanted to just post it more speedily so you could have an update.**

**Please continue to review, it makes it all worthwhile.**

(It's been so long since I've updated. If you don't recall what was in the letter that Anna wrote to Erik, go back to the chapter titled "Letter" and it's at the bottom.)

* * *

Erik chewed slowly, because even the line of his jaw hurt. It seemed that no part of his body had escaped the melee and he ached terribly from head to foot. The bread was fresh, however, and Christine had even offered butter to spread upon it. The luxury was sweetened with honey as well, making it an altogether sumptuous affair. He was not sure he had enjoyed a piece of bread so much in quite a long time.

Christine sat directly across from him, watching with an unnerving patience as he consumed the meal she had prepared. Erik tried more than once to convince her to eat with him, and she had politely refused.

Now that his stomach was nearly full, Erik found himself toying with his food and eating at an excruciatingly slow pace. He did not know what to say to her, or what would happen next.

When he could delay no longer, he finally lowered his emptied wine glass and folded his napkin atop his plate.

"Thank you," he said.

"Of course," Christine replied as she stood to clear away the dishes. Erik watched her.

"Christine?" He asked softly, as his thoughts suddenly turned to Anna.

"Yes, Erik?" Christine sounded tired, her melodic voice slow and low in response.

"Your tunnels... I mean, the secret passageways above. Do you see everyone? Everything?"

Put on edge by such a question, Christine cast a sharp glance his way and tilted her head aside a bit.

"Perhaps. Why do you ask, Erik?"

The dishes were cleaned now, and Christine again took her place across from him at the table. Sharing a meal with him, even if she refused to eat, was such a bittersweet experience for Christine. To sit across from him as a normal woman would, to pretend that it was their lives they shared and not just a meal was so terribly pleasurable. And then she would realize that it was not hers at all, but a stolen treasure that she would undoubtedly give back. Probably within a day or so, when he asked to go above and she would release him to his world of light.

His voice called her back from her reverie, and she realized she had not heard his question.

"Pardon?"

A bit of a smirk tugged at his handsome lips. "What were you thinking just then?"

The infamous phantom blushed, shook her head quickly, and gestured for him to continue.

"What were you saying, Erik?" She said, a hint of impatience in her voice. Erik laughed at her, an act which would have warranted his death in any other time of her life. Now, though, she struggled not to smile with him. He could very nearly read her thoughts, and it was unnerving!

"I asked about Anna..."

All of the mirth and joy in the situation died immediately, leaving a cold pallor in it's place. This must have been reflected in Christine's face, for Erik's face fell as well and he straightened a bit in his chair.

"What about her?" Christine hissed, standing from her seat to turn her back to him.

"Do not be so upset, Christine. What has provoked you?" Erik queried, as he moved to stand behind her.

Christine did not reply, but he felt her stiffen when he lifted his hands to her shoulders. In a voice that held too much fondness, he spoke quietly against her ear.

"She is a childhood friend of mine. We grew up together, really. I promised to always care for her, and now she is angry with me and I cannot understand why. Do you know, Christine? Has someone said something off-color to Anna about me?"

Christine felt betrayed, as though the touch of his hands upon her shoulders were a tool used merely to sway her to his whim. Her heart clenched at the thought, but she managed to speak in a cool voice.

"She is a diva, Erik, and you are an ordinary man. What more could you expect?"

The words were stinging, and Erik took a step away. They both remained like that, in her odd kitchen below the earth. Christine felt a great deal of regret for lashing out at him so, but she could not summon the courage to apologize. Erik was wounded by her words. Several moments of silence passed, and then Erik left. He retreated to the room he had been provided upon his first visit. Making use of the facilities, he cleaned himself up as much as he could manage and then returned to find Christine at her piano, composing.

"I would like for you to take me up now, Christine. I am ready to leave."

* * *

Jean and Antoine found themselves in the familiar office, drumming their fingers impassively against the arm of their chairs. 

"With what we pay him, you'd think he'd refurbish this little room.." Jean muttered in distaste, removing his handkerchief to wipe at his brow. Antoine only shushed him, content to watch the pendulum on the clock behind the desk sway.

After several long moments, Pierre bustled in. His clothes were slightly disheveled and his cheeks were red. It seemed they had caught him at a very inopportune time.

"Excuse me, Messieurs. I was just showing my new assistant how the filing system works and I did not expect you today. What can I do for you?"

Antoine and Jean exchanged a disgusted glance, and then Antoine spoke.

"We will be leaving for Paris for a fortnight, and want a report before we go. What cities have you searched? Have you found any leads?"

The portly man tugged at the collar of his shirt, and began to sift through piles of papers atop his desk. Stuttering, he began.

"W-w-w...well..."

Jean fixed him with an annoyed glare. Pierre cleared his throat, and tried again.

"Several places, Messieurs. I have a report for you here. Nothing so far. Odd that you're going to Paris, that was my next goal..."

"Yes, well. We're simply going to attend the Opera and visit with some friends. The investigative work _is_ still under control, isn't it Pierre? It would be a shame if we had to employ someone different, after all of our contributions to your firm."

The man paled, nodded quickly, and slid the folder across to the two of them.

"Of course, gentlemen. We will find him, and sooner rather than later I am inclined to believe."

Seeming content with the newfound zeal, Antoine and Jean excused themselves.

"Well, then. We're off to Paris. We will expect a report upon our return."

* * *

Erik was angry and did not speak to Christine as they traveled toward the surface. The two parted in silence. He was still aching and sore, but under the expert care of his angel most of his wounds had been patched up with ease and once all of the blood was washed away it was not nearly as bad as it had initially appeared. The worst was a vicious cut, undoubtedly the result of a broken bottle, atop his head. His angel had stitched that as well, however, and now he was left to simply rest and recoup from the ridiculous situation he had placed himself in. 

And to brood. Erik was furious at Christine. Not as much at the callousness of her words, but at the fact that she was privy to his most intimate thoughts and still chose to lash out at him in such a way. Having pretended to be a celestial being was terrible enough, but to use the knowledge garnered in such a deception to harm him was even worse.

What had angered her so much about his question, anyway? Was she jealous? What a ridiculous notion!

Erik couldn't stand to be left with his thoughts a moment longer. He trudged toward his door, and only when he had pulled it open did he notice the delicate envelope just within the threshold of his room, on the floor. He bent gingerly to pick it up, groaning a bit at the pressure upon his ribs. He lifted it to his lips, a bit of a smile forming as he recognized the sweet scent he had found upon his Annabel the night he had first discovered her. The expression faltered, however, when he remembered the circumstances upon which they parted. What more could she have to say to him. He sat upon the edge of his bed to open it, and read it's contents.

"_Always, Your Anna.."_

He read the ending aloud, and then immediately devoured each word of the letter again and again. Could it be true? His precious little cousin, no relation at all of course, thought of him in a romantic light? Should he rejoice, or be wary? Did he feel the same? She was beautiful, of course, and his most treasured companion for most of his life. Would it be treachery to Emma to even think of Annabel in such a way?

A myriad of emotions coursed through Erik, leaving him breathless and completely confused. Deciding to pay a visit to his new admirer, he again ventured toward his door. He tucked the letter into his pocket, and his last thought before closing the door upon his pitiful lodging was, _"If Anna did not leave the note, and the wine – who did?"_

* * *


End file.
